


The Body in the Library

by josiepug



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Agatha Christie - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, Gen, Murder and Mayhem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiepug/pseuds/josiepug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Song Of Ice And Fire meets Agatha Christie's The Body in the Library. In which Jaime and Addam solve murders, Brienne's legs are important, and Olenna knows what's up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts).



> As of right now, the entirety of this story has been written and is about half-beta'd by the lovely, incomparable asharastarfall (downlookingup). Seriously, she's amazing. She's done everything from mete out commas to teach me how telephones work to remind me where I left Addam Marbrand. Thanks so much, ash.
> 
> As the story is completely written, I will be posting once a week until final edits are done, at which point I'll probably move to twice a week.
> 
> Happy reading!

Margaery Tyrell was dreaming. It was a very nice dream. In it, she was a noble queen, ruling over all the land. As she rode by the common people in her carriage, they all shouted her name and threw flowers at her feet. Smiling benevolently, she tossed them coins in return, listening all the while to the child seated next to her, prattling on about his kittens. It was all very sweet, really. The kind of dream that Margaery had often and wished would last forever.

Alas, Margaery knew in some corner of her mind that she would soon be wakened by Alla for her morning tea. That was all right. She had a few moments longer to bask in the serenity of her dream, to listen to the crowd shout her name…

“Miss Tyrell! Miss Tyrell! Margaery!” Margaery rolled over. The voices sounded more urgent than she would have liked. Had she not fed her people?

“THERE’S A BODY IN THE LIBRARY!”

Margaery Tyrell sat bolt upright, coming face to face with her maid, who was sobbing uncontrollably.

“What was that, Alla? A body? What library?” Margaery couldn’t believe she had heard correctly. A body in the library? But those things simply did not occur in the real world.

Alla sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve in a most undignified manner. “Our library, Miss Tyrell. There’s a body in _our_ library.”

Margaery took a deep breath to steady herself at the news. “Well then, whose body is it?”

Alla dissolved into a fresh wave of emotion and Margaery waited with bated breath. “I don’t know. Some red haired girl,” Alla finally sniffed out. 

Margaery didn’t know any red haired girls. That was a relief. “Have you notified my father yet?” Margaery was already out of bed, pulling on slippers and running fingers through her long, wavy hair. 

Alla shook her head, seemingly unable to speak.

“Never mind, then. I’ll get him myself. A body in the library? How curious.” Lesser women than she might have been terrified by the news, or at the very least distressed, but Margaery Tyrell was made of sterner stuff. 

She made her way down the short hallway into her father’s room, not bothering to knock as she strode inside. “Father, there’s a body in the library.”

Mace Tyrell shifted in his sleep and grunted into his pillow, “Well, get it to leave.” 

Margaery tapped him gently on the shoulder. “Father, the body’s dead. It can’t move.” 

Mace shoved his head further into the pillow. “Ten more minutes.”

Margaery sighed and turned to leave. Why was she the only person around here who got things done? Of course that wasn’t exactly true, but she preferred to check things out for herself before calling in the cavalry.

****************

“Hello? Yes. Yes, this is the constable. How may I be of service to you, my lady?” Police-Constable Aurane Waters had just received his first phone call of the morning from a young woman by the name of Margaery Tyrell. The Tyrells were an immensely rich and influential family who often chose to summer in Waters’ own quaint town of Goldengrove rather than remain at Highgarden, their truly massive southern estate. Naturally, Aurane Waters was keen to assist the family in any way, especially the beautiful young woman with whom he was on the phone. However, the current situation was a trifle baffling.

“A body, you say? In _your_ library…Ah, I see. And you’re certain that you’ve never seen this young woman before in your life? Red hair, hmmm…yes, well thank you for the call, Miss Tyrell. I’ll take care of it. Leave it to me, young lady. Yes, of course. Goodbye, have a nice—er well, goodbye then.” Police-Constable Waters replaced the handset on the cradle, blushing slightly as he adjusted his collar. He looked back down at the telephone on his desk, sighing quietly to himself. There really was nothing for it. This simply was not something that he could handle on his own, but still…

He closed his eyes for a moment as he picked up the phone once more.

“Detective Inspector Lannister? Police-Constable Waters. I believe I have a body for you.”

****************

Olenna Tyrell was looking through her extensive collection of necklaces, searching for that jade one with the diamond-shaped pendant. She was certain that she’d had it last year when the Redwyne nieces and nephews had had their wine tasting event. Now, where was it…

The telephone rang.

Olenna stared at it for a moment, perplexed. Then she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and her frown deepened. It was half past seven in the morning. No one called Olenna Tyrell at half past seven in the morning on her private line. It simply was not done. She pursed her lips for a moment, trying to stare the contraption into submission, but it did not heed her and continued to ring shrilly. Olenna considered not answering out of spite, but thought better of it. There was always the off chance it could be important.

“Hello. _Margaery_? What are you doing up at this hour, dear?”

“Did I wake you, Grandmother?” Margaery’s voice sounded strangely tight through the phone.

“No, of course not. Go on, what’s happened? Is it something to do with Loras?” Of Olenna’s four grandchildren, Loras was the most likely to have gotten into the sort of trouble that would have even Margaery slightly breathless.

Margaery laughed a little shrilly. “Nothing like that. It’s just…there’s a body in our library.”

Olenna nearly dropped the handset in shock, but recovered herself quickly. Her voice became suddenly very sharp. “Whose body is it, Margaery?”

“No idea. She’s younger than me, red-haired. Pretty, probably not moneyed. It’s funny: it’s usually the blondes who end up in the libraries, isn’t it?”

“I expect the killer didn’t have their choice of hair colors. Are the police there yet?” Olenna Tyrell might not still have been in the prime of life, but she knew how to keep things clean and simple. The police rarely made that possible. Of course, given the circumstances…

“Not yet. They’re on their way. But you see, Grandmother, I was wondering if you would come up for a bit. Just as, um, moral support.”

Olenna’s granddaughter wanted her to solve the murder. She sighed. It was only natural, she supposed, that Margaery didn’t yet feel confident that she could sort these sorts of things out for herself. Olenna began to cast around in her mind for suitable attire to pack for the crime scene while Margaery explained that she had already sent a car to pick her up. 

Olenna reflected that being so good at solving murders could be rather a drag sometimes. Still, a library sounded rather exciting. Pity her son owned it.

****************

The house at Goldengrove would have been large and opulent by most people’s standards, but Olenna was not most people and she found the place dull and colorless. Compared to Highgarden’s rose-strewn lawns, at least.

Mace Tyrell was standing in the front lawn, his hair ruffled and his coat struggling to cover the pajamas underneath it. Olenna’s son looked grim, but his expression switched to one of surprise as he caught sight of her. 

“Mother? What are you doing here? I thought you were still at Highgarden.”

Olenna shook her head, smiling at her son’s baffled expression. “Margaery called. Something about a body. I presume—“

At that moment two people came rushing out of the house: Margaery, followed closely by Police-Constable Waters. Margaery did not share her father’s grim expression. She was practically glowing with excitement. It was a good thing she was such an unlikely suspect because she was acting rather too upbeat about the whole dilemma. 

“Grandmother, thank goodness you’re here. Come in, you _must_ see. That’s quite all right, isn’t it, Constable Waters?” Margaery smiled her most charming smile, and a minute later, Olenna was following her granddaughter to the library with Waters trailing behind them and looking slightly lost. 

The library was old and magnificent, and not maintained as well as it could have been. The armchairs were huge sagging pieces, and the table was covered in ornate pipes and books that had probably not been read in the century since the house had been bought from the Gardener family. The room was a picture of under-appreciated wealth.

Except for the body sprawled across the old bearskin rug. The girl’s shockingly red hair was fanned across the floor, a silver hairnet resting lopsided among her locks. Her slim body was dressed in a rather tight white satin evening gown with a plunging back and a jacket coming off at the shoulders. The girl’s face was swollen from strangulation, the too-heavy makeup standing out strangely on bloated cheeks covered in dripping mascara. The scandalously red lipstick looked like blood and stained her slightly protruding teeth. The color matched the lurid shade of her nails. At this stage, it was hard to make out anything more about her appearance, so distorted were her features. Olenna frowned slightly at the body. It looked absurdly out of place in the distinguished old Tyrell library. 

Olenna moved closer, Margaery and Waters copying her every move. The girl couldn’t have been more than twenty, part of a life that should never have landed her in this old library with strangulation marks around her throat. There were bits of sweet bread falling out of her jacket pocket. Lemon cake, a child’s treat.

The sound of a car coming up the drive broke the morbid peace of the moment. Olenna straightened quickly and walked purposefully to the front door. It would not do for anyone other than Waters to know that she had been poking around the body. The police were territorial like that.

****************

Detective Inspector Jaime Lannister knocked on the door of the Tyrell summer house. His hand had hardly left the knocker when Police-Constable Aurane Waters opened the door, looking slightly flustered. He was a handsome, slivery-haired young man, but still too green in the art of police work. Jaime strongly suspected that he cared more for the pretty young Tyrell heiress than for the body in the library. Not that Jaime could particularly blame him, as Margaery Tyrell herself swept to the door, seemingly having managed to do her makeup despite the disrupted morning routine. Behind her was a significantly less expected sight, the head of the Tyrell household herself, Olenna.

Jaime fought to keep the distaste from his face. If Olenna was here already, that meant that things were about to get very messy very soon. Jaime was not looking forward to the prospect of the old woman’s interference putting yet another stain on his, admittedly mixed, record. Still, he was not about to remove her yet. She had had her uses in the past, as loath as he was to admit it.

Jaime’s partner and long-time friend, Detective Sergeant Addam Marbrand, stepped forward to address Margaery. Slim and tall with dark red hair, Addam, too, seemed a little more interested in Margaery than was altogether necessary. Jaime resisted rolling his eyes in exasperation. Margaery may be pretty, but all the Tyrell roses had thorns. 

“Morning, Miss Tyrell.” Addam took out a pen and a pad of paper, leaving Jaime free to observe the Tyrells. “So, you have no idea who this girl is?”

“None at all, Inspector. It all looks quite fantastic really. Improbable. I’m sure you’d like to see.” Margaery moved back to let them through, every inch the accommodating hostess. She may as well have been inviting them in to show off the new season’s parlor decor.

“Doctor Pycelle will be along in a moment to perform an official check of the body, but if you wouldn’t mind?” 

They moved into the foyer, Addam and Margaery keeping up a steady flow of conversation while Jaime looked around the house. There were no signs of forced entry through the front door. In fact, the rest of the house looked perfectly ordinary, untouched by the corpse mere feet away. It was all very strange. Jaime turned to Olenna, who had been following them unobtrusively.

“And what are you doing here, Mrs. Tyrell? And don’t tell me that you just happened to be having a visit. I’m not that great a fool.” 

Olenna smiled slightly, clearly enjoying the game. “Margaery called. She thought that I might be able to assist the family in its… grief.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “So, did one of yours do it then?”

Olenna chuckled too quietly for the other pair to hear. “Oh no, no. If one of mine had committed a murder, we wouldn’t be nearly so obvious about it.”

Jaime snorted rather indecorously. “ _If_ there had been a murder. Never mind, that doesn’t matter now. But honestly, none of you have seen this girl before?”

The lady of Highgarden shook her head, still smiling. “No, Inspector Lannister. This time I believe our goals align.” 

Thorns, indeed.

****************

An hour later, Olenna Tyrell could be found breaking her fast with her granddaughter while the police milled around their library. Perhaps the body in the other room should have put them off their food, but both women were glad to tuck in, chatting quietly as they did so.

“So, Grandmother, what do you make of it? Any theories yet?” Olenna shook her head, smiling at the youth that even Margaery displayed on occasion. Of course, Olenna had shown prowess at this sort of thing before. All of the Reach showed some deference to her keen mind and problem solving ability, but murder simply wasn’t the sort of thing you could solve at a moment’s notice. It took careful observation and a fine comb through Olenna’s many experiences to get anything of use. Still, there were some things that could be shared at this point.

“I just can’t stop thinking about her dress,” Olenna said vaguely.

Margaery looked up from her tea, a puzzled expression on her face. “Well, it was certainly a rather cheap and unflattering satin, but I hardly think that’s what you mean.”

“Oh, that’s exactly what I mean, Margaery. But there’s something else. The scene just isn’t right. The window to the library was forced, so that’s how she got in here, but why? That’s what’s bothering me. That Inspector Marbrand suggested that she and a partner were attempting to burgle the house, ended up in an altercation, and this was the result.”

Margaery frowned. “Who would burgle in a dress? Besides, the girl looks like she’s been laid out. Like someone put her there.”

Olenna nodded. “Exactly, but why this house? To frame your father? Doesn’t seem likely, really. Of course they will investigate him, but the police know they won’t find anything. That would be simply sloppy. There has to be something else at play. Something to do with her dress I think.”

“She was dressed for dancing,” Margaery blurted out suddenly.

Olenna looked at her curiously, and Margaery blushed slightly before elaborating.

“They weren’t very nice clothes, but they were certainly for having fun in. The perfect length to do a good twirl.”

The lady of Highgarden nodded thoughtfully, her lips pursed. “That’s all well and good, but there simply is nowhere to wear a party dress to in the area. I can’t imagine her or the murderer having come too far, but I just don’t know where…”

“There was a party last night over at Robert Baratheon’s house,” Margaery interjected quickly. “People were talking.”

Robert Baratheon was a very rich man, though not quite so well off as the Tyrells, who chose to spend his summers in Goldengrove rather than a large city. He was a film star over in King’s Landing, not overly talented but notorious enough to bring a posse of willing young ladies wherever he went. Rumor had it that he had a wife now, not that something like marriage stopped those types anyway. Yes, Robert Baratheon’s party was certainly a starting point.

“You know, Margaery dear, I really think you might be on to something.”

Margaery flushed with pride at the high praise.

****************

“Well, the only place I know of that a girl would be going dressed like _that_ is Robert Baratheon’s,” Addam Marbrand said, sipping tea in the study at the far side of the Tyrell house. Mace Tyrell nodded gravely at that, but Jaime Lannister looked faintly annoyed.

“Robert, again. It’s always something to do with Robert,” The two other men nodded sympathetically, but they didn’t know the half of it. Jaime had known the Baratheons since childhood. They had never been friends, but people of their status seemed to run in the same circles, especially if they lived near King’s Landing. When Jaime had moved to the country a few years back in order to perform his police duties without finding his disappointed father at every turn, he expected to also leave the likes of crass, spoiled Robert behind.

Sadly, he had been mistaken.

At least there was now a chance that he was the murderer. That was something.

“Of course I didn’t know her!” Mace’s booming voice brought Jaime out of his reverie. 

Addam appeared to be hurrying to patch things up. “All right, All right. Look, Mr. Tyrell, you have to understand that I must ask you if you knew the girl or had…relations with her. That possibility has to be discounted immediately because you’ll have to admit that’s what people will think first. Maybe not that _you_ strangled her, particularly, but perhaps that she was waiting in the library for you when another man, a jilted lover, broke in to kill her. Always a possibility, that sort of thing.”

Jaime thought that Mace looked rather more Tully than Tyrell with his mouth gaping like a fish. It took a moment for the man to master himself again.

“Detective,” he spluttered, “damn it, you’ve got to listen to me. I’ve never seen the girl in all my life. I swear it on the family name.” 

At this point, Jaime decided to step in. Addam had pushed him just far enough. It was time to move on.

“That’s just fine.” Since when had _he_ become the placating one? “ See here, Mr. Tyrell, we still have question of how she ended up here. I can’t very well believe that she just appeared dead in your library by magic, so there has to be a reason. Don’t you agree?” Mace’s face turned red, and Jaime wondered if he thought that he suspected him. He shouldn’t take it personally. Jaime has learned a long time ago to suspect everyone. 

“Of course there’s got to be a reason. Damned if I know what it is, though. I didn’t go asking the girl to go and die in my library.”

Addam tapped a pen on his notebook, looking thoughtful. “You haven’t received anything strange in the post, perhaps? A warning, a question, perhaps an unsavory demand. That girl might have wanted something from you. That’s always a possibility.”

Mace put his face in his hands. “No, no. Nothing at all,” he said, apparently resigning himself to the ordeal of questions.

That resignation was exactly the opening Jaime needed, and he jumped straight in. “Mr. Tyrell, where did you happen to be last night?” Jaime attempted to sound non-threatening, though he doubted his success.

Fortunately, Mace didn’t seem to be too offended by the question. “Nine o’clock, I went to the Small Nature Council meeting over in Silver Hill. Had some car trouble on the way back, can’t have been home much before midnight.”

“And you didn’t look in on the library?” Jaime prodded. 

Mace shook his head. “The butler, Lyonel —he’s a rather distant cousin— closes the library up around ten. None of us is very keen on reading late into the night. Bad for the eyes, you know.”

Jaime nodded, not caring in the slightest about the state of Mace Tyrell’s eyes. “Lyonel, would he have gone into the library for any reason?”

Mace shook his head vehemently. “Never. Very dutiful, Lyonel is. Been with us for years. No, I doubt he noticed anything was amiss.” Jaime supposed it was possible that Lyonel was the killer, but a body in a library and a murdering butler? He liked to believe that there was not yet quite so many clichés in the world. Besides, there were far more interesting possibilities.

“And Margaery? Where was she last night?”

Mace shook his head once more. “In bed when I walked past her room, fast asleep. Honestly, Detectives, you’d best start looking outside of the house. Our entire household is made up of honest, loyal people. Been with us for years.”

Jaime did not doubt their loyalty. His own family may be known for their gold, but the Tyrells were much more generous with their own share. He was unlikely to get anything from the servants even if there was something to be found. 

“Why don’t you go look into that Baratheon fellow? He’s the one with all the girls always hanging around his house. We’ve got good folk here, but him? I wouldn’t put it past him to go dumping a body.” Jaime noted the deflection, but found himself agreeing with Mace. His eyes met Addam’s and his partner nodded.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Tyrell. We will be in touch with you shortly. It’s time we get back to the precinct.”

Mace Tyrell did not linger in wishing them good-bye, veritably herding them out of his house. 

But Jaime only stopped at the station long enough to drop Addam off before getting back in the police car. 

It was time to pay Robert Baratheon a visit.

****************

Robert Baratheon’s house was more modest than could be expected from a film star. Some people in the village speculated about whether he still had the money that his career had surely afforded him. Of course, the relative quaintness of the house, settled about half a mile from Goldengrove itself, did nothing to impede the salacious rumors that surrounded it. The inhabitants of Goldengrove speculated constantly about the pretty young women who frequented the house. There was seemingly a new one every weekend, though it was hard to tell whether they were there for Mr. Baratheon’s company or for the truly legendary parties that he threw. Not a weekend went by without the little house booming with the most fashionable music, creating nearly as much excitement in the scandalized villagers as in the partygoers themselves.

Jaime Lannister was not a villager, however, and it took quite a bit more to shock him. It was with more distaste than awe that Jaime knocked on the door. He had already dropped Addam off at the station to get a start on the paperwork, leaving him to deal alone with the man who opened the door.

Robert Baratheon was still a handsome man, if starting to go soft around the middle. His artfully wild black hair and piercing blue eyes left Jaime in no doubt as to why the pretty maidens of the surrounding region seemed to flock towards him. Of course, as soon as the man opened his mouth, any illusion of attractiveness vanished instantly.

“Jaime, old fellow, what a surprise. Been ages, hasn’t it? Or should I being calling you Kingsl—“

“It’s Inspector Lannister, Mr. Baratheon. I’m on duty.” The cold tone of Jaime’s voice hinted heavily that he would prefer to never be on a first name basis at all. “I need to have a few words with you. If you don’t mind?” Jaime practically pushed Robert out of the way as he stepped inside. “You’re up earlier than you used to be. I half expected to have to drag you out of bed,” Jaime continued, without a hint of the humor that usually colored his voice. 

Robert laughed rather more loudly than necessary. “Dare say I haven’t changed that much. Haven’t been to bed yet at all.” Suddenly, he sobered. “But that’s not what you’ve come to ask me about, is it? Well, spit it out.” 

Jaime cleared his throat. “Mr. Baratheon, I am to understand that you are rather known for having young ladies over to this house on the weekends. I—“

“Damn it, Jaime. Don’t you go shouting around about my morals as well. It’s not easy, I tell you, living the life I live.” Robert’s face was beginning to redden with the indignity of it all. Jaime cut him off.

“I don’t give a damn about your morals, Robert, and you know it. I’m here because a girl’s been murdered. Young girl, red-haired, dressed like she might have come from one of your parties.”

Robert Baratheon went slack-jawed. “What? Where did you find her?”

Jaime grimaced. “The library of the Tyrell mansion.”

Robert whistled. “Mace Tyrell, eh? Never thought he went for young meat like that. Always seemed so devoted to that wife of his in Highgarden. ‘Course, I always thought he looked at that pretty daughter of his a little funny…”

Jaime was fighting a strong urge to slap Robert Baratheon across the face. He might not have cared much for the Tyrells himself, but the way Robert talked about them made his skin crawl. Fortunately, at that moment they were interrupted by the squeal of brakes as a car pulled up the drive. 

Both of them rushed to the window and, a moment later, Jaime was wishing that he had just slapped Robert.

Cersei Lannister was striding across the lawn, handbag swinging with dangerous velocity. Jaime’s sister was as stunning as always, golden hair glowing in the morning sunlight, pursed lips shining red. Her heavily made-up eyes glinted angrily. Instinctively, Jaime took a step back, but as she threw open the door, his sister had eyes only for Robert.

“You brute!” She aimed a kick at Robert’s shin. “What were you doing walking out on me last night? You left me with Lancel, you pig!”

Robert barreled forward, his face thunderous. “Why not? I’m not your dog. I said we should leave and you didn’t want to.”

“You were just going to sneak around the back with that Bessie girl, anyways. I deserve to have a bit of fun as well.”

Robert snorted. They were now a mere hand’s breadth apart. “Oh, don’t pretend that’s it. You just wanted more time with your precious wine. Honestly, one of those men—“

“Like you didn’t have one hand all over those waitresses and the other holding that disgusting flagon of yours. You have no right to tell me when I should leave anyplace. ”

“Exactly, so I got out of there. I’m not going to go waiting around for some drunk fool to finish getting her arse kissed by some horny teenager!”

“Real nice man you are, Robert!”

They stood glaring at each other for a long moment, so close now that their noses were nearly touching.

The floor creaked slightly as Jaime shifted his weight, feeling ill. He fervently wished that he had not been privy to this particular conversation. Cersei turned towards the noise.

“Jaime?” she gasped, in utter shock.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne makes an appearance. The body is identified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly long break between uploads. I graduated in the interim. Anyway, it's up now. Enjoy!

The silence that ensued after Cersei noticed him was one of the longest and most awkward he had ever experienced. The tension that flowed between them had not lessened with the years, and Jaime was finding his sister’s face painful to look at. Finally, Robert cleared his throat.

“Er, Cersei, Jaime’s just been in to ask me some questions. Police work. Nothing to worry about.” Neither Jaime nor Cersei moved a muscle. Despite their estrangement and Jaime’s growing wariness of his sister, this was not how he wanted to reconnect with her.

At the moment, he couldn’t deal with it. He had a murder investigation to conduct. “Never mind, I’m going.” Jaime turned to leave, feeling his sister’s gaze fall heavy upon his back as he walked past her. He was almost back to the police car when Cersei’s voice floated after him. 

“Well, what did you expect?”

****************

Addam Marbrand had the unfortunate feeling that he was going to be the one doing the legwork for this investigation. His partner, Jaime, currently appeared to be doing nothing more productive than testing how far back he could push his chair without falling. Not exactly a worthy investigation. Addam sighed quietly to himself. Jaime Lannister was actually quite a competent detective, despite his rather astonishing good looks and careless demeanor. Addam could never reconcile the man himself to the reputation he had earned over the years. He was confident that Jaime could solve even this bizarre case.

That was if he didn’t tip too far on his chair and end up with a broken neck.

“Jaime. Jaime, pay attention.” Addam actually had to wave his hand in front of the other man’s face before he reacted. “Look, Jaime, I know you haven’t seen Cersei in years and you two have a difficult relationship, but honestly, this is getting ridiculous. You’re not listening at all and if I have to repeat the maids’ testimonies one more time—“

Jaime’s chair hit the floor with a thunk. His voice was clipped. “All the members of the house are accounted for. Margaery went to bed before ten and didn’t look in on the library. Lyonel closed up, brought Margaery a late-night drink, and went to bed. None of the maids heard anything except the one with the long name who heard a veritable symphony of screams. Her friend testifies that she was asleep all night. Happy now?”

Addam ran his hands through his hair. “Not remotely. No one in the house knows anything, the window was forced with a chisel, not exactly a rare tool, and we still have absolutely no idea what the poor girl was doing in the Tyrell library in the first place.”

Jaime nodded thoughtfully. “I can’t believe Cersei married that pig, Robert.”

Addam had to physically restrain himself from slamming his head against the desk. “Seriously? And can you stop leaning back in that chair? You’re going to kill yourself.”  
  
The much-abused chair slammed down once more. “I’m doing my job, Addam. Everything else is my business.”

“Not when you insist on muttering cryptic phrases at me every five seconds. Look, you can figure things out with your sister after the case, deal? Just solve this one, and then you two can throw wine at each other or whatever. But don’t involve me.” Addam had just turned back to the mound of files on his desk when the door opened. The universe seemed to be conspiring to keep him from getting anything done. Judging by the man who entered, his luck wasn’t about to get better anytime soon.

Doctor Pycelle was a ponderous old man whose verbosity was matched only by the slowness with which he uttered his words. His practices were outdated, and his company, positively painful. Despite those things, Addam was forced to admit that the man knew his bodies.

“What’s the news?” Jaime asked. By the way his leg was tapping, Addam knew that he was trying to head off a long chat with the old man. Perhaps he had finally decided to stop worrying about whatever problems he had with his sister and focus on the case.

Doctor Pycelle sat down uninvited, took out a sheaf of papers and then proceeded not to consult them at all as he gave his report. “Can’t say there’s much you haven’t already suspected. Of course there’s always a chance of—but no, no, that wouldn’t fit at all. The girl was killed by strangulation as attested by the quite obvious and most standard red marks around her neck, as well as the substantial discoloring and disfiguration of her facial features. The instrument of death was the waistband of her own satin dress. The most imprudent way in which it was tied made for it to be quite easy for anyone to have done the job. The dresses that young women wear these days are simply so—“ Jaime started to tap his pen obnoxiously against the table and Doctor Pycelle seemed to remember himself. “Oh, of course that information is most likely irrelevant. Though, if—where was I again? Ah yes, she was strangled with her own satin waistband. And easy to do. Yes. It would not require a great deal of strength to do the deed, presuming, of course, that the victim was unaware of her predicament.”

The doctor pause for breath and Jaime seized his opportunity. “Time of death?”

“The girl was strangled somewhere between the hours of ten and twelve last night. Due to the constraints of current medical knowledge, attempting to be any more precise would be not merely unwise, but also of great danger to my professional reputation.”

Jaime pursed his lips, but accepted the rather vague timeline. Addam, however, wanted to make sure they got everything they could out of the doctor. It reduced their chances of being forced to call him in a second time.

“Doctor Pycelle, is there anything else you can tell us about the body?”

Pycelle shook his head ponderously. “Very little else to interest you, Detectives. As you, I’m sure, could presume, she was young. Not older than eighteen, I would hazard, although with girls of her age it can be difficult to tell. She was very healthy, well-muscled. Used to physical activity of some sort. Very young, though her maidenhead was no longer intact.” The doctor paused meaningfully, but Jaime was clearly having none of it. He stood up briskly and addressed the doctor.

“Well, thank you for your information, Doctor Pycelle. Don’t hesitate to pay us a visit if you find anything more of import.” The last was said with such glaring insincerity that Pycelle actually looked affronted. Fortunately, however, he left without further comment.

Jaime slid back down into the chair, shaking his head. “If that nasty old man isn’t careful, he’ll end up being our next case.”

Addam laughed slightly, glad to see his friend distracted from his sister’s affair. “That case would be open and shut. Everyone knows you would have done it.”

Jaime smiled too. “I rather think I may have chosen the wrong side of the law. Have you got the missing persons list?”

Addam produced it from his stack of papers, reading the names aloud. “Sybell Spicer, forty-one, brown hair. Obviously not. Besides, everyone knows she’s living in Lannisport anyway. Nan, um, never mind. She’s at least eighty. How does someone that old go missing anyway? Well, she’s Northern, I guess. They’re a strange lot. Hm, Ygritte Wilde, 20, but uh, no description for some reason. That’s odd. There’s a chance we should look into that—“

The telephone rang. 

Jaime was nearest, so he picked up the phone. His eyes widened.

“Addam, listen to this. Sansa Stark, age eighteen, works as a professional dancer. Five feet seven inches, red hair, believed to be wearing a white satin evening dress. Went missing last night from Old Oak’s Caswell Luxury Hotel.”

Addam nodded, shuffling through his files. The Caswell Luxury Hotel made perfect sense. Only about twenty miles from Goldengrove, it was just big and lively enough for a girl dressed like that. 

Jaime was still explaining the details. “According to management, the girl didn’t turn up for the final dance of the night. When she still didn’t show this morning, one of the other girls probably called her in. The details are a bit fuzzy. I need to head over there now, give the place a look.”

****************

There was something about the hotel manager that made Jaime Lannister very uncomfortable. Perhaps it was his too-expertly-groomed facial hair or maybe the oily voice with the mercurial accent, but whatever it was, Jaime couldn’t be rid of Petyr Baelish soon enough. Mr. Baelish ran the Caswell Luxury Hotel and, judging by his superior attitude, believed that his position essentially made him ruler of Westeros. It was painfully obvious from Jaime’s brief conversation with the man that he had not been born wealthy and was now putting on airs in order to be more impressive. This in no way lessened Jaime’s distaste for him. If those sorts had the slightest idea of the reality behind power and wealth, they’d run away as quickly as possible.

Regardless, the sleazy manager didn’t seem to have any information about the disappearance of his employee, Sansa. Though, judging from the glint in his eye when he spoke of her, he may have wanted to know more.

Jaime felt the strong urge to wash his hands once he made it back to the police car. He was very glad that the man wasn’t _his_ boss. Poor Sansa.

The interview with Petyr Baelish had one positive effect: Jaime’s mind was taken completely off of Cersei and her disgusting husband. In fact, he could think of nothing but Baelish’s unsettlingly whispery voice the entire ride back to Goldengrove, right until he pulled up the Tyrell drive.

Addam Marbrand was talking to what appeared to be a man in a dress. A rather tall man in a rather short dress at that. Confused, Jaime got out of the car and strode over to Addam. As he neared, it became apparent that it was not in fact a man in a dress, just a very tall and rather ugly woman.

Addam, sensing his presence, turned to introduce him to the strange woman. “This is Brienne Tarth. She worked with Sansa Stark at the hotel.”

“You’re a dancer?” Jaime blurted out, staring at the woman before him. She was like nothing he had ever seen before. Taller than he was, with thick pale legs longer than any woman Jaime had ever known, all leading up to a broad, swollen-lipped face positively crawling with freckles. She was young as well, probably twenty. All of this paired with the short dancer’s dress that she was currently trying to hide under an unhelpful coat created quite the comic effect. Jaime had to bite back the urge to laugh outright, but the way the woman’s face was turning red suggested that she was less amused.

“Yes, I’m a dancer.” She sounded both annoyed and embarrassed. 

“I see.” Perhaps that last phrase had sounded slightly too sarcastic because Brienne’s face turned, if possible, even redder, and she pursed her lips.

Addam stepped in before she could say anything. “Brienne was the one who suggested Sansa Stark for the job at Caswell. She was well acquainted with Sansa’s late mother, Catelyn. We think she’ll be able to identify the body for us.”

Jaime nodded, looking closer at Brienne. Still red from his earlier comments, she nonetheless met his gaze straight on. Her eyes were a truly startling shade of blue—calm, if slightly glazed over in shock. She didn’t seem terribly upset, if Jaime was being honest. More surprised and uncomfortable than anything. Few people retained their calm at a crime scene. It was impressive, or possibly suspicious. 

“In that case, Miss Tarth, we have quite a bit to talk about. I think we better sit down.” The two of the them settled down on a bench in the yard while Addam wandered back to the scene of the crime. Jaime smiled at Brienne’s absurd attempts to pull her dress down enough to cover a modest amount of leg. Catching him looking, she scowled. 

“Inspector, may I ask what you find so amusing about me?”

Jaime was still smiling, watching her blue eyes flash in the sun. “Do you really have to ask? Pink is not your color, my lady.” 

“No, it’s my uniform. For some of us our jobs are more than hobbies to supplement the trust fund, Lannister.” The bitterness in her voice stung. Clearly, she wasn’t overly worried about being civil with the police. Few people wanted to be polite to him, but even fewer refused to fake it. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jaime didn’t know why it bothered him so much. What right did this hideous woman have to question him like that? She didn’t know what it was like, any of it.

Brienne just raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps not, but you’re saying Sansa Stark has been murdered and you seem more concerned about my wardrobe than her death.”

“You’re not too sad yourself.”

Brienne dropped those startling eyes, suddenly abashed once more. “I didn’t really know her. It was her mother… Catelyn… she was very kind to me. When she died… I promised her I’d help Sansa in any way I could, so I got her a job at the Caswell. It was all I could do. We weren’t close, even working together. But, well, it’s not the first—” At that moment she seemed to remember who she was talking to and shut down again. Jaime couldn’t help his curiosity, but it was too early to push her. She was a suspect, after all. “Never mind. Do want me to look at… the body?”

Brienne really was very young, with her long legs and ugly face and guileless eyes. Those eyes, though. There was depth to them that belied their youth. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder what she had seen to make her so calm in this sort of situation. Unfortunately, there really wasn’t time for him to satisfy his curiosity. “You can ride with Inspector Marbrand to the mortuary to identify the body. I’ll meet the two of you there after I’ve checked in with the technicians here at the house.” Looking relieved to be rid of him, Brienne turned to go meet Addam, who happened to be leaving the house. She was visibly more relaxed, probably because she wouldn’t have to ride with him. It was all too easy.

“Oh, and Miss Tarth? You may want to change. The dead might find that dress a bit tasteless.”

It took a monumental effort to walk into the Tyrell house without looking to see her reaction. 

Half an hour later, Jaime was waiting impatiently outside of the mortuary. They needed Brienne to identify the body if they were going to move any further in the case. As he stood waiting, Jaime’s mind drifted around that absurdly tall, freckly girl in the horrid pink dress. She really was quite the curiosity in a town as small and unremarkable as Goldengrove. She was too tall by half and those eyes, whatever they had seen…

“Jaime? Jaime.” Addam Marbrand was at his elbow, Brienne trailing a few feet behind him. She looked rather pale and clammy after seeing the body, but had at least changed out of the dress.

“I’m pleased to see I’m having an effect on you,” Jaime smirked, looking Brienne up and down to take in her much more sensible, though ill-fitting, outfit. 

Brienne scowled at him. “Keep dreaming, Inspector.” Addam shot Jaime a warning look that he ignored.

“I certainly will, Miss Tarth. Just wait until tonight. Is it Sansa?”

Brienne went white, with anger at him for his rude remarks or distress over the murder, it was hard to tell. 

“I think… well, those were the clothes that she often wears after performances and her hairnet and everything. Her face…” She was flustered, and Jaime reflected that needling a key part of their investigation until she was nearly incoherent was hardly his soundest strategy. Brienne closed her eyes for a second before continuing, more steadily this time. “It was rather difficult to make out the face. It was too disfigured, but who else could it be, after all? I’m sorry if that’s not very helpful.” She addressed the apology exclusively to Addam. “But dead bodies aren’t… And to think… poor Sansa.” She looked sadder now than she had back at the house, as though the truth had finally sunk in. Jaime wanted to know what she knew about dead bodies other than Sansa’s, but there were formalities to be observed.

“Very sad indeed,” Jaime said with something less than complete sincerity. Brienne’s scowl turned back on him with full force, any trace of sadness wiped away. “Don’t look at me like that. People die all the time. I’m sorry you knew the girl, but trust me, she’s no one special.”

“Jaime!” Addam scolded, sounding scandalized. Jaime bit his lip, unsure as to what about this ungainly girl was making him so bitter. 

Brienne began to splutter out of response, her honor clearly being infringed upon, but Addam jumped in to try to salvage the interview. “Sorry, Miss Tarth. Inspector Lannister is very good at his job, but he tends to err on the cynical side—“

“That’s _why_ I’m good at my job,” Jaime interjected. Addam gave him a withering look that clearly said that he wasn’t helping.

Addam continued, attempting to block Jaime from the conversation. “Anyway, Miss Tarth, we need to know if you know anyone who may have wanted her dead. A boyfriend perhaps? Someone from her past?”

Brienne shook her head, then stopped, looking unsure. “No—I mean, I don’t think so. I really didn’t know her very well. It was her mother I was close to. Sansa and I didn’t spend much time together. I don’t know that she would have told me if she had had a boyfriend.” 

Addam nodded and shoved a notebook in Jaime’s direction. Apparently he was supposed to be taking the notes for this one. He didn’t think he was imagining the small smile at the corner of Brienne’s mouth. By the Seven, that woman was frustrating.

Addam, at least, seemed to be enjoying his temporary role as lead investigator. “All right, Miss Tarth, I need you to tell me everything you know about her: full name, address, your relationship with her, etcetera.” 

Brienne took a deep breath, looking down at her feet a moment before speaking. “Her name was Sansa Stark—her mother Catelyn helped me out a few years ago and I owe quite a bit to her. When she passed away, I did my best to help Sansa by getting her a job. She is… er, was a very talented dancer. However, we, uh, didn’t have very similar styles. She worked on more of the grace routines and I did the most physical ones. I hardly saw her at all during the day, even though we both lived at the Caswell Hotel. She was kind to me, but much younger.” Jaime didn’t really think two years qualified as much younger, but then he remembered the look in Brienne’s eyes. 

“Also, I managed the bridge tables as well while Sansa just danced. We both worked with Renly Baratheon, who dances and teaches tennis lessons at the hotel.” Jaime took note of the name. It appeared that not one but two of the Baratheon brothers were mixed up in this affair. Renly was younger than Robert by quite a bit, so Jaime had never known him, but it was interesting nonetheless. So was the shy, slightly worshipful way in which Brienne said the man’s name. 

Addam didn’t seem to notice anything in what she said. “And was she well-liked at the hotel?” he asked, glancing at Jaime to make sure he was still dutifully taking notes.

“Yes. Yes, everyone loved Sansa. She really was quite a sweet girl. Young, naive, still living in her own little fairytale. She loved putting on her makeup and her pretty dresses and dancing in front of everyone. She was very pretty and kind, good with people. The older folks liked her especially, though I expect she might have been looking more for a charming prince. I never saw her with anyone.” Jaime studied Brienne closely during this little speech. She didn’t seem as jealous as he had expected. But perhaps the look of resignation in her eyes was worse.

Addam was nodding. “Thank you. I also need you to tell me the last time you saw Sansa Stark.”

Brienne looked slightly pale, but determined to do her best for the young Stark girl. Jaime wished he still had that kind of belief in the justice system’s ability to do its job. “Last night she and Renly were set to do two dances, one at 10:30 and the other at midnight. After the first show dance, she was dancing with a young man who was visiting the hotel while I played bridge with some patrons. That was the last time I saw her. She didn’t show up for her next dance, so I had to go on instead. I wasn’t worried, though. Sansa was a nice girl, but sometimes she wasn’t reliable. I stayed up waiting for another few hours, and when she didn’t return, I went to bed. She had been talking about the party at Renly’s brother’s house all week, so I thought she might have gone off there.”

Jaime cut in at that point. “And this morning, when Sansa still hadn’t come back, you called the police, didn’t you?”

Brienne flushed scarlet. Her head was down again, so Jaime couldn’t tell, but he thought she might have had tears in her eyes. “No, I didn’t call,” she whispered.

“Why not?” Jaime’s voice was almost gentle.

Brienne looked up at him. He had been correct to assume that her eyes were swimming, but she brushed the tears away quickly. “You could never understand.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “I’m the police. I’m the one person who had better understand. Otherwise I’ll like as not put you away for murder.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes at him, speaking more boldly than Jaime would have thought possible. “No, I don’t think you will. You don’t think I could have done it.”

Jaime felt Addam’s gaze fall sharply upon him, and he knew he needed to take control of the conversation. “I asked you why you didn’t call.”  
Brienne didn’t drop her eyes, but she didn’t push the subject either, for which Jaime was grateful. As loath as Jaime was to admit it, he didn’t have it in him to suspect the strange, gangly girl. His evidence for not doing so would never hold up in a court of law though, so he had to keep pushing. 

“It’s the hotel manager,” Brienne said, quietly but firmly. “Mr. Baelish doesn’t like any of his girls to be late places. If I had called on Sansa and she had turned up all right, Mr. Baelish would have found out. There may have been…consequences. It was Doran Martell who called.”

Addam frowned, puzzled. “Why would he do that?”

Brienne blushed again, though less deeply this time. “He often spends time at the Caswell and he was very fond of Sansa. He treated her like a daughter. He was worried when she didn’t take coffee with him, especially since he had bought lemon cakes for her the day before. Those were her favorite.”

Addam moved on with the questions, clearly wanting to wrap the interview up smoothly. “And this young man she danced with. Who was he?”

“Podrick Payne. He’s a very sweet boy, really. Absolutely dotes on Sansa, though I don’t think they knew each other especially well.” She was still very hesitant about any information on Sansa’s personal life.

“All right. Did Sansa know many people in the area?”

“I don’t think so, though she was always friendly.”

“And did she ever talk about the Tyrell Estate?”

Brienne shook her head. “Never. It’s so strange that she…ended up there.”

“Did you know the Tyrells at all, or perhaps Robert Baratheon?”

“I know who they are, of course, but not personally, no. Robert must be the film man who hosts the parties that Sansa gets invited to. Renly’s brother. I’ve never met him, though.”

Jaime nodded, unsurprised that the awkward girl had never caught the eye of Robert. Sansa, on the other hand, seemed to be another case entirely.

“Do you know if Sansa had been invited to any of Robert’s parties recently?” Addam asked before Jaime had a chance to step in. 

Brienne hesitated. “She didn’t tell me, but I doubt she would have said anything anyhow.”

Addam nodded, looking slightly lost with his notepad still in Jaime’s hand. “Well, Miss Tarth, I think it’s best it you accompany us back to the Tyrell Estate. I don’t believe you’ve yet have a chance to talk with the Tyrells. It may prove valuable.”

“Of course, Detective.” Brienne moved as if to head towards Addam’s car, but the man threw out an arm to stop her. 

“I’m afraid not with me, Miss Tarth. I’m headed back to the station to make a few calls about the investigation. You’ll be traveling with Inspector Lannister.”

Brienne stopped dead and it was hard to tell whether she or Jaime were more scandalized by the prospect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Olenna smirks, Podrick stutters, and Brienne encounters a rose garden. Also Jaime.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baelish is creepy, Daenerys is calculating, and poor Podrick can't even get his words out. Also, there's a murder to be solved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jaime/Brienne board has just passed its one year anniversary, so this chapter gets a special shout-out to ikkiM, without whom half of the fics in the Jaime/Brienne tag wouldn't exist. Seriously. She runs the place.
> 
> Sorry, I'm late again with the posting. Wisdom teeth this time. Ugh. Well, here goes. Happy readings!

Goldengrove was positively abuzz with activity.

Miss Barba Mordane, an elderly, slightly portly widow, walked as fast as her stout legs would carry her over to Miss Lenore’s home. Miss Alys Lenore was a slightly less elderly and less portly version of Miss Mordane, and she couldn’t have been more glad to receive her.

“Barba, how good of you to come around,” Alys crowed, delighted to see her friend and primary purveyor of gossip.

“Good to see you too, my dear,” Barba assured her. “I know I’ve dropped in a bit early, but I simply could not help but think you may not have heard the news.”

Alys Lenore’s questioning look was all the incentive Barba needed. “Well, the body in the Tyrell’s library, of course.”

“What?” Miss Lenore nearly dropped the cup of tea she had begun preparing. “In the _library_? How bizarre. Oh poor Margaery, she must be having a fit.” Miss Lenore did not quite manage to keep the glee out of her voice. Margaery Tyrell, being young, pretty and intelligent, was thoroughly hated by the venerable ladies of Goldengrove. 

Miss Mordane nodded emphatically. “Of course, if the young girl didn’t spend so much time out dancing, she mightn’t have nearly so much trouble.” Miss Lenore nodded at this sage piece of wisdom. “Ever so dreadful. They say old Olenna Tyrell has come up from Highgarden.”

“Already?” Lenore raised a dignified eyebrow. “That’s rather quick. Olenna always seems to hang about murders, doesn’t she? Remember the wedding? She’s a vulture. It’s disgraceful.”

“Well, and that’s not all.” Mordane lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “People are saying that the dead girl was a friend of Margaery’s. A very _special_ friend, if you catch my drift. And they go out dancing every night, people are saying. I’d reckon that this time it’s personal for Olenna. Oh, and the police officer on the case, Jaime Lannister, used to sleep with the dead girl’s mother.”

Miss Lenore gasped with delight, hardly restraining herself from clapping her hands with delight.

“Now of course this is all confidential, you understand, very hush-hush.”

Miss Lenore nodded in grave understanding, and the two women tucked into their tea.

Half an hour later, they parted ways in order to find some neighbors on whom to impart the deliciously fresh news.

****************

Back at the mansion, Olenna was sitting in the drawing room with Margaery. The younger woman was doing an excellent job of appearing unmoved by the whole situation, but Olenna knew better. Having someone murdered in your home was always a traumatic experience, but one to which Olenna expected her granddaughter to eventually become immune. Margaery cleared her throat.

“I’m awfully glad to have that body out of the library. You know, I wouldn’t think it would be so troublesome, but it really is a bit unnerving.”

Olenna nodded in understanding. “I know exactly how you feel, dear.”

Margaery smiled. “I know. That’s why I called you around.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Though I love him dearly, my father just doesn’t quite have the head for this sort of thing. Bad enough that he’ll be implicated in the girl’s death. Can’t have him saying anything injudicious while he’s at it.”

Yes, Olenna Tyrell had chosen wisely when she had selected Margaery as her protegee. The girl was young and inexperienced, but sharp and cool-headed. Exactly what Olenna needed on crime scenes. Her beauty helped as well, fooling men into thinking that she wasn’t capable of solving the issue, or causing it, for that matter. 

“I daresay you’re doing quite well, Margaery. I’d even go so far as to say you don’t need me here at all.” Olenna rose, but Margaery put out a hand to stop her.

“Oh no, Grandmother. Please stay. Most of the police have gone, certainly, but there’s bound to be more questions. I simply can’t stand the idea of staying here alone with the rest of these people.” The word people had enough scorn attached to it to make Margaery’s view of the policemen exceptionally obvious. Olenna, for her part, did not jump to such hasty conclusions. Inspector Marbrand might have been a bit of a lackey, but Lannister was cleverer than he looked, and if Olenna was right about certain things, this all was about to get very interesting.

Just then, the telephone rang.

Margaery sprang up to answer it, returning a moment later, smiling triumphantly. “See, I told you to stick around. That was Inspector Marbrand calling to inform us that Inspector Lannister’s about to arrive with an associate of the dead girl’s. She’s a dancer, but apparently she’s hideous to look at.”

Margaery looked rather gleeful at the news. Not that she was necessarily judging the poor girl for being ugly. It was more that any new kinks in the story added to the fun. She would need to control her excitement though. Some people took poorly to smiles at a crime scene. 

“The police want to know whether the girl recognizes our family,” Olenna observed shrewdly. “Lannister’s not stupid enough to trust what we tell him, apparently.”

Margaery was still smiling broadly. “Clever,” she said, running her fingers through her already perfect hair. “It’s cute how he thinks he can get ahead of us.” Olenna smiled slightly. The arrogance of youth could be endearing at times.

Speaking of youth, it was at that moment that the young woman they had been so recently discussing entered the house. Inspector Lannister was leading her, an incredibly tall young woman with the kind of face that Olenna knew had made her life very hard indeed. Still, despite her awkward gait and blushing tendency, she carried herself with strength. Every few moments, Lannister glanced back at her, his face unreadable.

Yes, things were getting interesting.

“Miss Tyrell, Lady Tyrell, this is Miss Brienne Tarth. She has helped us determine that the body found in your library was Sansa Stark’s.” Jaime Lannister hardly glanced at the Tyrells as he introduced the tall blonde, more intent on Brienne’s face than anything. She appeared to be avoiding his gaze, and latched quickly onto Olenna.

“Lady Tyrell, it’s v-very nice to meet you,” she said, stumbling only slightly.

Olenna smiled. “And you as well, my dear. This all must be quite a shock for you.” 

Brienne nodded, her thick lips opening and closing in a distinctly unattractive fashion. “It’s like a nightmare, Lady Tyrell.”

No, murder was nothing like in the songs. Though as Olenna moved to show Brienne the room in which the murder had taken place, she had to admit that this one did have a certain elegance to it. If only the murdered girl had been blonde, everything would have been perfect.

Jaime Lannister was speaking: “Sansa Stark was found laid out in this room here, right on the hearth rug. We’re not certain, however, whether this was the scene of the actual crime.”

Brienne frowned at the old, but opulent, library. The large room practically reeked of old money and prestige, and Olenna could see Brienne’s mind trying to reconcile such a place with the death of her fellow dancer. Apparently, she failed. “But…but that makes no sense.” Still not looking at Inspector Lannister, she directed her thoughts towards Olenna instead. “How could Sansa have ended up here? It isn’t—Sansa would never choose—“ she stopped herself from whatever she was going to say, glancing anxiously at Olenna. “I just don’t understand.”

Jaime Lannister was still watching her closely, wearing an expression on his face strangely akin to pain. When she stopped talking, he pulled his eyes off of her with some effort to look at Olenna. He cocked his head and said, “But you understand quite well, don’t you, Lady Tyrell?”

Olenna smiled coyly. Lannister was smart enough to know when he was outranked. “Oh of course I have an explanation, a rather good one at that. But I doubt it’s one you’ll like, so I rather think I’ll need a touch of evidence first.” She was answering Lannister’s question, but she addressed the room at large. It was rather amusing to watch everyone, even Margaery, twitch slightly. Knowledge was power.

Margaery broke the silence that was beginning to become uncomfortable. “So, Brienne, how is it exactly that you knew the —er, Sansa?” Brienne blushed for the second time in last ten minutes, and began to tell a very attentive Margaery the sorry tale of Sansa Stark. 

When she had finished, Margaery said, “You must have been horribly worried when Sansa didn’t arrive for her second dance.”

Brienne shook her head, seeming loath to contradict Margaery, but doing so nonetheless. “No, I—well, I thought she’d probably just gone off to have a bit of fun. Robert Baratheon was going to have quite a party, and she had probably gotten an invitation.”

Margaery smiled sympathetically at that. “Naturally. In fact, I’d heard about that party as well. I was rather inclined to say yes, and…”

Olenna shot her granddaughter a piercing glare from across the table.

Margaery changed her tune rather hurriedly. “But of course that sort of party is rather classless, don’t you think?”

At Brienne’s blank look, she plowed on. “Well, if you didn’t call the police then who did?”

Looking slightly relieved to hear a question she was able to answer, Brienne replied, “Mr. Martell called.”

Margaery’s mouth fell open. “Oberyn?” she asked in a shocked voice that was tinged with something that sounded suspiciously like envy. Olenna pursed her lips.

Brienne frowned. “Who? No, it was Doran Martell.”

“Oh, he’s an invalid, isn’t he?” Margaery sounded slightly disappointed. 

“Er, well he was in that horrible accident a while back, and he’s in a wheelchair now. He’s really a very kind man. He was here last summer as well.” Olenna found this bit of news especially striking. Doran Martell was old, rich, and nearly as mysterious as the Faceless Men. If he was involved in this strange case, that could certainly explain quite a bit.

“Brienne, dear, did he bring the rest of the family?” Olenna enquired unassumingly.

“Do you mean Dany and Osmund? Yes, he’s very fond of them.” Brienne sounded much more unsure of this statement than Olenna deemed necessary. It was common knowledge that Doran Martell had taken his children-in-law in as his own after the tragic deaths of his own heirs in the same incident that crippled him. But for some reason, Brienne seemed unsure of their status in his graces. It was a line of enquiry worth pursuing at a later date.

****************

Brienne Tarth was wandering among the rosebushes in front of the Tyrell Estate at Goldengrove. She looked angry, occasionally crushing a flower under her foot.

Just the moment for Jaime Lannister to walk over.

“Enjoying the roses, Miss Tarth?” Brienne startled slightly, but she was calmer than the last time they had met.

“No. And you needn’t pretend I’m a lady. I know I don’t look like one, Inspector Lannister.”

Jaime frowned at that, but brightened almost instantly. “Well in that case, you mustn’t call me Inspector. I’m far too handsome to be a policeman.”

Brienne snorted a noise somewhere between amusement and derision. It was a decidedly unladylike sound, and Jaime found himself laughing. “You’re far too easy to get a rise out of, Tarth. If you were an investigator, the suspect would be running circles around you.”

“Oh, as opposed to you, who seems to find having private, solitary conversations with suspects in a murder case to be a completely productive use of his time?” They were walking together through the rosebushes. To any outside observer, they might have been lovers on an afternoon stroll. The thought made Jaime smile to himself. Brienne would hate that. Still, there was something Brienne didn’t understand about this process.

“You’re not the murderer,” Jaime said quietly.

Brienne stared at him, her blue eyes wide and surprised. “Why not?”

“If you were to murder someone it wouldn’t be backhanded and you wouldn’t lay the blame on anyone else. Margaery Tyrell suspects you, but that’s only because it’s how she would have done it. Olenna knows better and so do I. As an added bonus, no danger in secret rosebush rendezvous.”

Brienne blushed at his turn of phrase, but plowed on regardless. “Clearly, you’re not very good at your job then.”

“Are you confessing?” Perhaps she was right. Jaime was famous for going on his instincts, but with Brienne, he couldn’t even truly find their source.

“No! I would never kill Sansa, but that doesn’t mean you should take my word for it. That’s not how the law works. You have to prove me innocent.”

Jaime smiled bitterly. “Tarth, that’s exactly how the law works. Who saw it, who didn’t, who says something, who hides something, who the jury wants to believe. Whose face makes a nice newspaper cover. Evidence against someone appears once people believe them guilty. That’s simply how it works. You tell me not to trust you and yet you believe in our justice system. Please. There is no justice and certain people will always get away with it.”

“Like you?” It was clear that Brienne hadn’t meant to say those words aloud, and she covered her mouth as soon as she said them, but the damage was done. Jaime could feel his blood boiling.

“Don’t talk about things you know nothing about, girl.” The rosebushes pricked his hands as he waded away from her, but he hardly felt it.

****************

Addam Marbrand decided very quickly that he did not much like Petyr Baelish. Not for the first time, he cursed the fates for making him the professional partner. With Jaime’s thinly veiled jibes to contend with, it was up to Addam to smooth things out enough to prevent a formal complaint.

The work was thankless.

“So you think that the two of you will be able to find out what happened to my girl, do you?” The criticism in Baelish’s unsettling smooth voice was obvious.

“Or you can just make our jobs easier and confess here and now,” Jaime put in. Addam had to fight the nearly overpowering urge to roll his eyes.

“We’re just doing our jobs, Mr. Baelish. And to do that, sir, we need all the information. Please tell us exactly what you know about Sansa Stark.”

“I hardly knew her at all. She was just a dancer that Brienne Tarth introduced to my establishment.” The man’s smile was making Addam uncomfortable.

“And Brienne Tarth? What about her?” Jaime added, somewhat more aggressively than Addam thought necessary.

Baleish’s smile faded. “Brienne is a talented dancer, very strong. I thought at first with a face like hers…but she has managed herself exceptionally well. Of course, still no appeal off of the dance floor.” The disappointment in Mr. Baelish’s voice raised the hairs on the back of Addam’s neck. He felt Jaime stiffen beside him and nudged him discreetly. It would not do for Jaime Lannister to go attacking a reputable business owner even though Addam certainly appreciated the sentiment. 

“Sansa, however, she was a different matter entirely. Very pretty and quite young, too. The sort that people like to hang around. The Martells especially. Old Doran loved to have little Sansa sit in his lap while they played bridge. Of course, Doran is like that with everyone. Spends half his days at the Water Gardens, watching the children. But he liked Sansa especially.” It may have been Addam’s imagination, but he fancied that Baelish sounded slightly possessive as he said those last words. He felt a keen urge to probe deeper, but this was only a first meeting, and they needed Baelish’s cooperation.

“It was Doran Martell who alerted the police to Sansa’s disappearance?”

“None of the rest of us dreamed anything could be the matter with poor Sansa. She had likely gone off dancing at some party or other. I was preparing to have a word with her about her duty to my establishment upon her return, you see. But Doran was insistent. Absolutely certain something had happened, a car accident perhaps. I humored him. Good for business, you know.” 

“I most certainly do know,” Addam said with only the barest hint of an edge. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Baelish. We will be going to see Mr. Martell next. Good day.”

No sooner were Addam and Jaime safely out of Petyr Baelish’s office than Jaime turned to his partner and said matter-of-factly, “Well, if he’s not a pedophile, I’ll eat my hat.”

Addam nodded, shivering slightly. “I hope he did it. If not, do you think we can find a charge of some sort?”

Jaime smiled coldly. “I will certainly work on it.”

****************

Petyr Baelish had offered to accompany them upstairs to visit Mr. Martell, but Jaime refused him firmly. He thought it dangerously likely that if he had to spend another minute with the man, Mr. Baelish would soon be short a few teeth. Not to mention the fact that Addam looked ready to have a heart attack any time Jaime opened his mouth in the hotel manager’s presence. His partner did not give him much credit for subtlety or tact, a complaint Jaime himself was not able to refute.

So it was that Jaime and Addam climbed the stairs of the luxurious hotel by themselves, taking in the expensive wallpaper and finely wrought bannister. It reminded Jaime rather uncomfortably of Casterly Rock, his own family’s estate. When they arrived at the Martell lodgings on the first floor, they learned that the rooms looked out upon a lake and were surely the most expensive in the place. Jaime knocked.

The young woman who answered the door was very beautiful. Her long white-blonde hair hung in lazy plaits down her back and her eyes were an intriguing shade of purple. Jaime felt Addam stiffen in surprise next to him. This young woman was no blood relative of the dark, Dornish Martells. She bore a striking resemblance to someone quite different, and a shiver ran down Jaime’s spine.

“Are you Mrs. Daenerys Martell?”

Daenerys smiled, though it looked slightly forced. “That I am. I’m assuming you’re here about Sansa Stark.”

“You guessed correctly, madam. I’m Inspector Marbrand and this is Inspector Lannister. We would like to speak to your father-in-law, if that’s alright?” Addam said. Jaime was too busy staring at Daenerys. The widow of Quentyn Martell was not some fairly well-to-do girl from a minor estate in the country. This was Daenerys of the Targaryen family, one of the richest and most influential in Westeros, at least until a few years ago. She must recognize his name, but she did not react to it. Had she been warned that he would be working the case? Jaime almost craved a reaction. This coolness was unnerving, especially in a Targaryen.

“I’m afraid Doran is asleep at the moment, Detectives. Perhaps you could come back in a little while. His health is poor, I’m afraid.” She didn’t seem very afraid at all, though perhaps slightly inconvenienced. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder if there was a more sinister reason for her not to let them into the Martell rooms, but he dismissed the idea. As little as he trusted the Targaryens, Daenerys would have nothing to gain from delaying the meeting by an hour or so. Addam, however, seemed to have seized upon the same idea and was none too willing to have Mrs. Martell escort them right out of the door. 

“No problem, no problem at all. But we would love to talk to you while we wait. Is there anywhere we can sit down?”

Daenerys looked taken aback for a moment, but recovered herself admirably quickly. “Of course, we can sit out on the balcony. Right this way, please.” A moment later, the three of them were sitting, overlooking the lake. Jaime couldn’t help but admire the Targaryen-turned-Martell’s unflappable calm. Few people reacted so smoothly to the entrance of the police into their homes. It reminded him, oddly, of Brienne Tarth, who, despite her youth and shyness, had shown a similar strength under investigation.

Daenerys’ voice broke him out of his reverie. 

“We’ve all been quite in shock since we heard the news. It’s hard to believe that Sansa Stark is dead. We’d been seeing quite a bit of her recently. My father-in-law is terribly upset. He was very fond Sansa.”

“We’ve been told that it was Mr. Martell who called in her disappearance. Is that your understanding?” Addam asked, watching Daenerys closely. Jaime firmly hoped that his interest was merely professional. 

Daenerys’ eyes flashed for a moment, and Jaime struggled to place the emotion there. Anger? Passion? He could not place it yet, but whatever she was feeling, it was strong. A moment later she had schooled her features once more into regal formality as she continued.

“Yes, Doran called the police. His health prohibits him from moving around much, and without much to occupy him, he gets easily worried. We all thought it was just a flight of fancy, but it appears…” she paused for a moment and sadness shone in her purple eyes. Jaime could not be sure whether or not it was an act. She cleared her throat. “It appears that he was correct, unfortunately.”

Jaime cursed the woman’s composure. They needed more from her, and she was just too unreadable for anyone, even Jaime, to get much out of. Addam continued to probe, though Jaime was sure that he held out little hope of getting answers.

“How well did you know Sansa Stark, Mrs. Martell? You said that she was around quite a bit?”

Daenerys nodded noncommittally. “Well, my father-in-law likes to spend time with children. He loves to sit at the water gardens to watch them play, and he absolutely dotes on my son, Rhaego. Sansa was interesting to him—a simple girl from up North come down to make her name. She would play bridge at the hotel with us and he would take her for drives in his car sometimes. Sansa was like that. Cersei Lannister also paid her visits. People saw some sort of potential in her.” She sounded positively bored now, though her voice still carried the same arch tone. Jaime had a strong feeling that there were details that she was leaving out. And what was his sister doing with Sansa Stark?

“Cersei Lannister? Why was she coming to see Sansa?” Jaime asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. Daenerys turned the full force of her striking gaze upon him.

“She’s your sister, isn’t she? I’d heard the two of you were close.” Jaime winced, then tried to remind himself that Daenerys didn’t know anything. She just didn’t like him and had spied out a weakness. “She and Sansa would talk. Clothes, mostly. Sansa wanted to go into the movies, and she was trying to get Cersei to talk to her husband. I don’t know whether she ever got her wish,” Daenerys said, still glaring at Jaime as if this was somehow his fault. Addam, clearly uncomfortable with the tension, decided to bring the conversation back into their territory.

“Mrs. Martell, may I ask what your memory is of last night’s events?”

“Of course,” Daenerys smiled rather blandly, “but I can’t say I think what I have to say will be of much use to you. The last I saw of Sansa was when we were sitting in the lounge before her first dance. Like I said, she often plays bridge with us, but we were waiting for Osmund. Osmund Kettleblack, he’s my brother-in-law.” Jaime noticed that her lips curled slightly at the mention of Osmund. It seemed that there was no love lost there. Though the young widow did seem the type to be too high and mighty for just about everyone. 

“He was running late. Something about one of his shirts. And Brienne had said she might join us. Which was odd because I don’t think she’d ever played with us before. Didn’t know she knew how.” Mrs. Martell frowned slightly, her pretty brows knitting together.

“Do you like Brienne?” Jaime asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

Daenerys tilted her head. “She’s very capable.” The note of approval told Jaime that this was a trait she valued highly. “A good leader. She’s the queen of that hotel, whatever Mr. Baelish thinks.”

“And what does he think?” Jaime asked, not missing a beat.

Daenerys blushed prettily. “He, well, he was very fond of Sansa. I think he would have liked her to take over the bigger role, but Brienne was too good at her job and Sansa knew it. She was happy just dancing.”

Addam was ready to get back to the night’s events. “Very good. You were waiting and then what?”

“Sansa was talking with Doran and I while we waited. Then Brienne arrived to tell us it was time for Sansa’s dance with Renly—he’s the tennis teacher. After the dance, she got back right when Osmund arrived. Then we all started to play bridge and she danced with one of the young men staying at the hotel. A nice young boy called Podrick Payne. That’s all, though. Nothing you could call unusual. I was playing bridge the rest of the time, all the way until Renly found Brienne when Sansa was late for her dance. Of course, Brienne didn’t want him talking about it.”

Jaime frowned. “Why not?”

She looked surprised that he had to ask. “Well—Mr. Baelish is, um, a bit territorial when it comes to his girls. If he’d thought she was out at a party of some sort when she was supposed to be working for him, he would not be pleased. Brienne told Renly she had gone up to bed, covering for her in case Baelish heard, I imagine. He likes to wander around the lounge.” Daenerys crinkled her nose slightly. “Renly knocked on Sansa’s door and didn’t get an answer. That was when Brienne stepped in and took over Sansa’s dance. She knew all the moves and everything. Doran was very worried as well. Eventually we managed to convince him she’d gone out for a drive and got him to go to bed, but he was in quite a state this morning when he learned she wasn’t back. There was not help for it but to call the police at that point. And here we are.” She smiled rather ruefully, and sat back, her tale finished. 

Jaime had one more question, though he held out little hope of an answer. “Mrs. Martell, do you have any idea who could have killed Sansa?

Daenerys shook her regal head slowly, and the interview wrapped up soon after, leaving Jaime with the niggling feeling that Daenerys knew a lot more than she was letting on. Not to mention her unsettling calm around Jaime, someone she surely hated.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the feeling for the time being, Jaime followed Addam up the stairs. It was time to interview one Podrick Payne.

****************

Podrick Payne could not seem to get his words out of his mouth. He was a young man of unremarkable, though rather youthful looks. His only interesting feature seemed to be an unattractive stye under one eye. Which Jaime had been forced to stare at for the last ten minutes, waiting for the boy to manage to string a coherent sentence together.

“I-I just can’t b-believe that Sansa, that she’s d-dead. She was s-so p-pretty and and nice. An-and in the T-tyrell house t-too. I can’t b-believe it. I-I danced with her j-just last night.” The poor boy looked devastated, but Jaime was running out of patience.

“Mr. Payne, how well did you know Miss Stark?”

Podrick gulped. “N-not well at all, s-sir. We’d only just met, s-sir. She, she was v-very sweet to d-dance with me. And she had b-been showing me some tennis, s-sir.”

“You were the last person to see her alive.”

Podrick blanched. “Er, y-yes. Oh God, that’s awful.” Addam was looking sympathetically at the young man, but Jaime couldn’t see how it could take this long to get a statement out of someone. Maybe it was the stye affecting his brain somehow.

“What time did you dance with her?”

“C-can’t have been later than eleven. After her f-first d-dance. Last d-dance now, I g-guess.” Well, that was certainly a depressing thought. As little vested interest as Jaime had in Sansa herself, it was rather a sad story. He was just about to prompt Podrick once more when the boy continued.

“We d-danced for a b-bit, b-but I’m not a v-very good d-dancer. She was ever so k-kind to me, b-but I could tell she was b-bored. She was v-very nice though and told me she had a b-bit of a headache. Then she left to g-go up to her room and that was the last I ever saw of her,” he finished very quietly, looking down at his lap. Addam took up a more gentle interrogation from there.

“And what did you do after she left?”

Podrick looked baffled for a moment, but recovered himself. “Got a d-drink. B-brienne, the other d-dancer, was working with Renly. She’s v-very good, quieter than Sansa was, though.”

Jaime saw the hole immediately.

“Brienne didn’t dance with Renly until midnight. How did that drink take you at least an hour?”

Podrick was shaking. “D-don’t know. Must have been thinking.”  
  “About what?”

“Just things.” He was turning very white. 

“Are you certain you didn’t go out for a drive in that time? With Sansa Stark perhaps?” Jaime’s eyes bore into Podrick’s and he flinched visibly.

“N-no. I mean yes, I’m sure. I wouldn’t.” Addam cleared his throat.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Payne. We’ll be getting back to you.

Addam turned to Jaime as they made their way back to the police car. “What do you make of young Mr. Payne there?”

Jaime shook his head. “Well, obviously he’s terrified of something. Or someone. The question is whether it has to do with our murder.”

Addam sighed, pulling the keys out of his pocket. “Something is telling me that there’s an awful lot more going on in this town than meets the eye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up...Brienne dances, Doran talks and Osmund is not charming.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brienne dances, Daenerys is stoic and Doran talks a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I really suck at updating regularly. I promise the story is finished and will all get posted (eventually).

Brienne and Renly were practicing. If Jaime Lannister hadn’t known that the extraordinarily tall woman whirling around the studio had to be Brienne, he would never have guessed. In ordinary life, she was lumbering and ungainly, clearly painfully aware of her height. On the dance floor, she could not be more different. She danced circles around Renly, who was also very good. Jaime didn’t know much of anything about dancing, but it was impossible to miss the power and precision with which Brienne moved, her long legs twisting and twirling sinuously. She seemed not merely to dance the steps, but to live them. For a moment, Jaime stood mesmerized. Then, she saw him.

The change was instantaneous. Where a moment ago, she had been graceful and focused, now she tripped into an ungainly fall that nearly flattened Renly.

“What are you doing here?” she managed to gasp out, sweat dripping into her eyes.

“Conducting interviews.” Jaime shrugged. It was true that he had come to the hotel to ask the barman a few questions before he’d been sidetracked. “Thought I’d check in on your progress. Can’t have one unfortunate event ruining the business, now can we?” he said, in a passable impression of Petyr Baelish's sleazy voice.

Brienne scowled at him. He was beginning to get rather used to her scowls. “If you keep looking at me like that, your face will freeze that way. No need to make things worse.”

Brienne looked ready to spit at him. She wrenched away from Renly, who was looking on with bemusement, and strode over to Jaime. “You’re despicable,” she hissed, her face very close to his.

Jaime tried to smile, but the old bitterness was welling up once more. “You’ve made your opinions quite clear, Miss Tarth. How original of you, hating me. Do you want to punch me? I assure you, there’s quite the queue.” Finally, he managed an imitation of his patented careless grin.

Brienne was red with fury, but she could no longer articulate her words. 

“In case you’re wondering, it’s all true. I’ve never denied it. I killed my partner in cold blood, and I got away with it. There’s a lesson for you.” Jaime knew that his smile had turned positively feral, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the way Brienne blanched at his words. It served her right. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Tarth, Mr Baratheon, I do have a murder investigation to get on with. Good day.”

Jaime strode out of the empty dancing studio without a backwards glance. 

Both the doorman and the man working the bar proved to be singularly unhelpful. After interviewing them both, Jaime learned that the doorman, a large, scarred, imposing creature, had neither seen nor heard Sansa leave that night. As far as Jaime could tell, despite his deadpan answers, the man was quite broken up about Sansa’s death. The barman proved to have even less information and was too drunk to do more than confirm that Podrick Payne had been at the bar at some point.

Jaime left with the distinct impression that Petyr Baelish could do with some better staff.

Finding Addam waiting for him in the expansive lobby, he prepared to share the paltry information he had acquired. However, as soon as he opened his mouth, a small boy with light blond hair came rushing up to them. “Mum said you’re the detectives and she told me not to bother you but you don't mind, do you? My name’s Rhaego. Granddad Doran rang you up after that girl was killed. Are you from King’s Landing?”

Addam appeared ready to field the questions, but Jaime waved him off, squatting down to talk to the child.

“We just finished our business here. I take it you like a bit of excitement in town?”

Rhaego grinned, bouncing on his heels. “Oh yes, I do. We’ve never got a murder before. It’s just like in those Christie stories, isn’t it?”

Jaime smiled, but he was cringing inwardly. “Not quite like them, I’m afraid. Aren’t you at all sad that Sansa’s dead?”

Rhaego tilted his head questioningly, as though the question had honestly never occurred to him before. “No,” he said. Then, more confidently, “No, Mum didn’t like her very much.” Clearly, if his mum didn’t like someone, Rhaego wasn’t about to give them the time of day. 

“Why didn’t your mum like Sansa, Rhaego?” Jaime asked. As he had suspected, Daenerys was rather adept at hiding her emotions. Luckily for him, her son was not yet so discrete. 

“She thought Granddad paid too much attention to ther. Said she was just a little girl playing a game and that she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Uncle Osmund agreed with her, and he doesn’t agree with Mum on much,” he wrinkled his nose at the improbable situation of someone disagreeing with his mum. “I think they were both a bit glad she was dead, really.”

Addam drew in an audible breath at that, and Jaime pressed on with renewed interest. “Did they say that, Rhaego? That they were glad she was dead?”

“No, Uncle Osmund was joking about it a bit though. Mum told him to stop, but she wasn’t very angry at him. Sansa was never part of the family and she should have stayed in the North where she belonged,” Rhaego was obviously parroting what he had heard said around the house. Addam nudged Jaime rather unsubtly in the ribs, and Jaime was just about to ask the boy another question when a huge Norvoshi man sidled up to them. He cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, detectives. I am Areo Hotah, Mr. Martell’s valet. He has just awoken and asked me to find you immediately. He is very anxious to speak you both regarding Sansa Stark’s death. If you would follow me?”

They followed, Jaime reflecting as he went that Areo Hotah looked more the part of a bodyguard or a hit man than a valet. 

Doran Martell’s suite was much the same as it had been when they had lasted visited, only a few hours ago. The only difference came in the form of tall, hook nosed man who stood in earnest conversation with Daenerys Martell. At their arrival, he turned to fix his handsome, if slightly beady, eyes on the two detectives.

“How do you do, detectives? I’m Osmund Kettleblack, widower of the unsurpassed Arianne Martell.” His smile did not reach his eyes. “I’m glad you came along. My father-in-law is very anxious to speak with you. Though,” and he leaned in conspiratorially, “just between us, you ought to take it easy on the poor man. Don’t mention I said this, but his health is very poor. It was never good after the accident and he suffers from gout as well. The doctors say any shock could do him in. It’s a wonder that he survived that Sansa’s murder. Isn’t that right, Dany?”

Daenerys, who must have been feigning inattention, turned to face them. “That’s quite right, Osmund.” Her lips were pursed.

“Anyway,” Osmund continued in the same conspiratorial voice, “I’d appreciate it if you went easy on the poor man. He’s a good fellow, after all.”

“We will endeavor to make the unexpected murder of a teenage girl as un-shocking as possible, Mr. Kettleblack,“ Jaime said wryly. He was discovering that he didn’t much care for the hook-nosed man. He could be considered attractive by some. But Jaime thought that his eyes lacked depth, and any appeal could go no further than surface-deep. If he was genial now, it was only because he had an ulterior motive. He was the sort who always wanted a bit more than he was getting. Jaime wondered briefly how a woman as reputedly beautiful and intelligent as the late Martell heiress had ended up with this man.

Jaime would have liked to have learned more from Mr. Kettleblack, sensing that he would have a very different view on things than the careful Daenerys, but moments later they were swept along by Areo Hotah into the bedroom of the venerable Doran Martell.

Jaime himself had never met Doran, though he had heard his father speak of him on occasion. Tywin Lannister had viewed Doran as having essentially died when tragedy befell his family, but the man Jaime saw before him was full of vitality. Physically, perhaps, he was weak, sitting in his wheelchair with a blanket over his legs, but his eyes seemed to pierce right through Jaime, and he held himself with the alertness of a much healthier man. He took his time in sizing them up as well, his gaze traveling with methodical precision, first over Addam, then Jaime. He was not a man to speak until he was well prepared.

“Detective Inspector Marbrand. From the Westerlands, I trust? Your family has a history of good police work. It’s a pleasure to see you here.” Addam flushed slightly and nodded politely. Then Doran turned his attention to Jaime.

“Jaime Lannister.” His tone of voice was dangerously neutral. “I don’t believe we’ve met, though of course I knew your father.” Though his voice was studiously light, Jaime could hear the bitter strain of resentment running through it. There was no love lost there.

Jaime smiled broadly. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Martell. Now, as we are here to solve a murder, would you mind telling us what you knew of Sansa Stark?”

“You’ve met my children-in-law. What do they say on the matter?” Was Doran trying to make sure that their stories tallied up? If so, he was hardly being subtle.

“Mrs. Martell says only that you were very fond of Sansa, and we haven’t had the chance to speak of it to Mr. Ketteblack,” Addam answered before Jaime could stop him. It may have been his imagination, but Jaime thought he saw Doran relax a little at the news.

“Well, I cannot say that Daenerys is wrong, though I think you could all do to hear the whole story. And that, I am afraid, is rather a lengthy undertaking. Do sit down.” He beckoned them to a small table on the bedroom balcony, and, dutifully, they sat down. “Lemon cake?” Doran offered casually. Jaime shook his head. There had been a crushed lemon cake in the pocket of Sansa Stark’s dress when she died. 

“You see, detectives, it all started eight years ago. With the tragedy.” Doran paused, whether to collect his thoughts or for dramatic effect, it was difficult to discern. “My children, Quentyn, Arianne and Trystane, as well as my wife, Mellario, had gone to visit my wife’s family in Norvos. Daenerys and Osmund had stayed behind because Mellario wanted it to be a family trip.” He stared wistfully out across the lake for a moment. “Mellario and I had our differences, but she loved the children deeply. As do I. As they were crossing the Narrow Sea, a great storm struck. None of their bodies were ever found.”

Doran Martell’s frank statement of events left the room in profound silence, but soon he continued. “Naturally, I was devastated. My brother, Oberyn, was abroad at the time and could not return quickly. I turned to the only family I had left: Quentyn’s wife Daenerys and Arianne’s new husband, Osmund. I did not yet know them well, but we were united in our shared grief. They were so kind, detectives, so understanding. They have stayed with me for years, often coming to visit, fussing about my health.” He waved a dismissive hand. “We have created our own little family. And yet, I realize that I am not their father. I know that they looked to other lands and other lives. I cannot keep them with me forever, and although I know I will be lonely, I must allow them to move on as I never can. That was the conclusion I had come to when we agreed to stay the summer at the Caswell. I promised myself that by summer’s end I would tell them to be off, to find their own lives while they are still young.” He closed his eyes for a moment, in grief and fatigue, but when he opened them, they appeared sharper than ever.

“And that was when I met Sansa Stark. A young, pretty girl from the North who just wanted to be a dancer. She was beautifully innocent, a summer child seemingly untouched by the darkness of the world, although her life had not been easy. I was, I’ll admit, entranced by her. She had lost both her parents, and her siblings were flung wide across Westeros. She was lonely, and in that, we were kin. That was all I wanted, to have kin again. Daenerys and Osmund would move on, but Sansa was always by my side, sweet and charming and utterly innocent. Like a daughter to me. I yearned for that, to have a daughter again. It was what I intended, why I spent so much time with her. I wanted to adopt her as my own daughter, to give one another a family where we had none left.” 

“I can’t imagine your current children-in-law liked that very much.” Jaime noted, leaning back in his chair. 

Doran frowned, glancing briefly towards the door. “Perhaps not, but they are not my children and they do not rule my choices. Whether or not they felt any sort of jealousy towards Sansa Stark was not my concern, and anyway, I have had a plan for a long while now.”

“Mmm?”

“You see, Arianne and Quentyn both came into substantial inheritances when they settled down and married. After their untimely deaths, that money passed to Osmund and Daenerys, respectively. They have already been provided for. What I do with the rest of the modest fortune I have incurred is up to my own discretion. And I chose Sansa Stark. She truly was a lovely girl. Simple and Northern, perhaps, but fit to be a queen with the right nurturing. It truly is a pity.” His voice turned suddenly hard. “Whoever killed her was a monster.” His eyes flashed in a way that stripped Doran of any age or frailty, and Jaime was absurdly glad that he had not met the man when he was truly in his prime. 

“On that we can all agree, Mr. Martell,” said Addam, clearly concerned that Doran might overexert himself. It would turn out to be an awful lot of paperwork if the man copped it during an interview. “Do you have any idea who that could be? Anyone who stood to gain from her death? Or even a man, a boyfriend?”

“No one.” Doran sounded sad, and much older than he had moments before. “That’s why I connected with her. She was all alone. A nice girl. She didn’t deserve any of what happened to her. There was no one in the world to benefit from her death. No one to mourn it either. Who knows how long she would have been missing if I hadn’t called the police?”

“Brienne would have looked for her,” Jaime said firmly. 

Doran gave him a strange look. “Ms. Tarth hardly knew Sansa Stark, and she’s not the brightest bulb. But the point still stands, no one would have had anything to gain from her murder.”

Jaime felt strangely stung by Doran’s dismissal of Brienne’s capability. He had thought him a smart man. 

“And if you were to suffer—“ Addam began to ask gently, but Doran cut him off. His voice was controlled but laced with anger. 

“I’m crippled, Detective, not dying. The doctors fuss over me a bit, but that’s what I pay them for. I assure you, there’s no danger of me dying anytime soon. There is still much that needs to be settled, and I have my will in order should anything…unusual occur.”

“A will?”

“I recently set aside a trust worth fifty thousand pounds. Sansa would have inherited it at the age of twenty-five.”

Addam's whistle was slightly unprofessional. “That’s quite a bit of money.”

Doran nodded slowly, his mouth grim. “No doubt you think that I am an old, foolish man, but you couldn’t be further from the truth. I do not throw away my money on a whim. There is no one left for me, and Sansa was a unique girl. Of course, I left money for Areo, my valet, and the rest went to Daenerys and Osmund. Not much money at that point, but nothing that should anger anyone. I had all the contingencies planned out. Everything was for the best. Or so I thought at the time.” He looked down into the blanket in his lap, apparently lost in contemplation. 

When his eyes met Jaime’s once more, the loss had receded and hard determination shone in his face. The look reminded Jaime strangely of his father, though he knew Tywin would not have agreed with the comparison. 

“I want to know more about how she died. All I know at present is that she was found strangled in the library of the Tyrell Estate at Goldengrove, like some character in a penny dreadful.”

“Did Sansa ever talk about the Tyrells, Mr. Martell?” Jaime asked, ignoring his plea for information. Doran seemed none too pleased by the famous family name, but that was understandable.

Doran shook his head. “Never. Sansa didn’t get about much. She was very dutiful and good at her work, but she didn’t see much of the world.” He closed his piercing eyes, making his face look old and drawn without their intent gaze. “Now, she never will. Never mind about more information. I guess that’s all there is to it, in the end. If you’d excuse me, Detectives, I believe I’ve given all I have to offer for the moment. I trust you to get the job done.”

Addam smiled graciously at that, but Jaime felt uneasy. Doran had been probing for answers a moment ago, and now he looked as if another nap was all he cared about. Surely that wasn’t just grief. There was something going on, but for the moment at least, there was nothing to be done about it. 

“We’ll keep you well informed of the proceedings, Mr. Martell,” Addam assured him and after a short goodbye, they left him to what would presumably be another nap.

****************

The moment that the door to the suite clicked shut, Doran Martell sat up straight in his wheelchair. In light of the interview, he was being afforded a rare moment away from his children-in-law and he planned to take full advantage of it.

“Areo,” he called, knowing that he did not need to raise his voice.

His faithful valet appeared within a moment and stood to attention. 

“Areo, I need you to get Jon Connington on the line right now. Tell him that it is of the utmost urgency that he come as soon as possible. Today, if he can get out of the city.” Areo Hotah nodded once and turned to go. Doran stopped him with a gesture.

“Tell him that the lions are circling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Pod has a problem, Jaime explores Brienne's bedroom and the body count increases.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne have another chat, Podrick has a problem, and Renly leaves Jaime with the tab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, instead of coming up with a lame excuse for posting so late, I'm just going to tell you all to what I've been doing for the past week. I've been participating in the GISHWHES scavenger hunt (www.gishwhes.com). This is my third time doing it and it's basically the best week of the year, so go check it out. But read this chapter first.

Addam Marbrand whistled under his breath as they got into the police car. “Fifty thousand pounds. Well, that certainly puts a new perspective on things. I’d probably off someone if I was going to get that much for it.”

Jaime frowned, putting the key into the ignition. “You think Daenerys or Osmund did Sansa in? Daenerys might be a bit cold, but I don’t see her as a murderer.”

“Osmund Kettleblack’s an unscrupulous type, though. I’ve never heard the name, but the file says he came into the marriage with a fair chunk of money. Something tells me he didn’t come by it honestly.”

Jaime snorted. “Kettleblack isn’t smart enough to get away with murder. However he got his money, I don’t think it was through his wits. The person who did this was smart and calculating, leaving the body in a distracting location like that with no evidence to speak of. Daenerys could have planned it for him, I suppose, but Rhaego said that his mother didn’t like Osmund, and she’d have no reason to pretend around her son. Much more likely that there was a boyfriend involved somehow.”

“Doran Martell said there wasn’t anyone.”

Jaime shot Addam a vaguely exasperated look. “Teenagers may not be good for much, but concealing their affections is rather a specialty at that age.”

Addam raised an eyebrow. “Care to share?”

“No.”

It wasn’t until they were back at the police station that Addam dared raise the point again. For the most part, Jaime Lannister was sarcastic and annoying, but very occasionally he became downright dangerous. Addam did not like to push his luck. 

“So, a jealous boyfriend, then? Someone who hears about Doran wanting to adopt Sansa and feels left out, perhaps. They go for a drive and he confronts her, strangles her, and dumps the body in the nearest house.”

Jaime shook his head, massaging his temples. “No, this was pre-meditated. If he was going to dump her, it would have been in a ditch. Too much risk of someone waking up. I would suspect that whoever did this knew the habits of the Tyrells and the likelihood of their entrance going undetected.

“A frame?”

“Not unless they were intentionally bringing down the wrath of Olenna Tyrell. And that would be idiotic. I’m certain she already knows who it is, but she won’t say a thing until she has all her contingencies laid out.”

“You could interview her…”

Jaime gave him a withering look and Addam fell silent. The Lannisters were famous for their pride. Another thing that Addam had learned not to test.

“D-detectives?” Podrick Payne was at the office door, looking mortified at having interrupted them. Jaime did nothing to ease his fear.

“What do you want?” he asked, rather more rudely than was necessary.

Podrick paled, his head still poking around the doorway. “I’ve g-got something you might want t-to know?” He said it like a question.

“Really?” Jaime did not sound convinced.

“Do come in.” Addam said at exactly the same time, only managing to further confuse poor Podrick, who did a sort of awkward stutter-step into the room. Apparently trying to compromise between them, he did not take the chair that Addam proffered, choosing instead to stand in the middle of the room wringing his hands.

“I c-can’t find my c-car.” He looked terrified at the very thought.

“What do you mean you can’t find it? Was it stolen?” Jaime was tipping backwards in his chair again.

“I d-don’t know.”

Jaime snorted, and Addam had to resist the strong urge to punch his friend. Podrick Payne seemed like a nice lad despite being nervous. 

“I mean, someone c-could have t-taken off with it b-by mistake. It’s a c-common c-car, a Hollard.”

“What kind of fool buys a Hollard?”

“The kind of fool without pockets full of gold, Lannister. Close your head.” Addam said, exasperated. Jaime looked about as abashed as he could manage, which wasn’t very. Podrick was made even more uncomfortable by the dispute and began to back towards the door. Addam sighed inwardly. Time to clean up Lannister’s mess.

“Mr. Payne. When did you last see your Hollard?

“Erm, I’m not sure, D-detective. I d-didn’t check last night.”

Perhaps Jaime was right. This was a tad frustrating. “When did you see it last?”

“Yesterday morning, D-detective.” About that, at least, he sounded certain.

“And when did you notice its absence?”

“Just now, sir. Normally I wouldn’t think—b-but with Sansa and all, I thought it might b-be important.” He sounded like he regretted thinking any such thing. 

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Payne. I’ll just go and give Police-Constable Waters a ring, and he can take your statement.”

Podrick left, thanking them for their time. Addam kicked Jaime under the table.

“Lannister, do you always have to be such a berk?”

****************

With no further lines of investigation at the station, Addam and Jaime were back at the Caswell a few hours later to inspect Sansa’s rooms. The police had been there since the morning, and very little was left undone. Jaime found himself aimlessly wandering the dingy hallway in front of Sansa’s room while Addam interviewed the chambermaids.

It really was a horrible little space. Whatever luxury Petyr Baelish managed to provide for the likes of the Martells, he clearly could not be bothered to give his staff. Sansa’s rooms lay in the lowest level of the far north end of the hotel, dark and secluded from everyone except Brienne. The darkened emergency exit was the only way out of this side of the building, and it would have been exceptionally easy for Sansa to sneak out unnoticed. 

Slightly frustrated, Jaime began to search her rooms before Addam returned. As dark and cramped as the rest of the space, there really wasn’t much to see. Sansa’s bedroom was orderly for someone of her age. There was a fresh winter rose sitting in a glass of water on her desk next to a meticulously dusted photograph. It showed six people posing for a formal family portrait in traditional Northern furs. Even dulled by black and white, Sansa stood out from the rest of her family, the red of her hair straining to make itself seen through the palette of grays. Her parents must have died not long after this photo was taken, her siblings scattered to the winds. And now Sansa, living in the dingy apartments of Petyr Baelish until she found her way to the Tyrell hearth, dead.

Jaime tore himself away from the photograph and continued his search of the room. The desk contained a small stack of letters, many of which were from a Northern girl named Jeyne, detailing how life was back home, going on about a new family who had moved in from somewhere in the Iron Islands, and complaining about advances from a local boy called Ramsay. Jaime took note of that last bit of information before filing the letters away safely.

Contrary to the rest of the space, the bathroom was a bit of a mess. Face cleaning tissues littered the countertop, a jar of facial cleansing cream sat open, and one of the lipsticks was wearing the cap of another product. An entire row of nail varnishes had toppled into the sink. Jaime frowned. This, finally, was suspicious. A girl who brought in fresh flowers and dusted her low rent room was not likely to leave such a mess in the bathroom. Jaime smiled inwardly at the thought of what his sister would say if she found that her makeup had been handled so carelessly. He would have to ask Addam if the team had found any foreign fingerprints in the bathroom. 

Jaime was about to leave Sansa’s rooms to go look for his partner, when his eye caught the small door in the wall next to the old-fashioned dresser. Intrigued, he pulled on his gloves and tried the knob. It was unlocked. Jaime pushed it open and found himself in a drab, sparsely decorated apartment, a near twin to Sansa’s. 

This must be Brienne Tarth’s room. 

Driven by some unfathomable curiosity, he walked in. 

The room was much as he would have expected from a person like Brienne: clean, practical, absolutely without glamor or comfort. The only exception to the uniformly drab space was her wardrobe. It was left slightly ajar, so Jaime had no qualms about looking inside. The vast array of colors and sparkly appendages served to make the rest of the room look even sadder. Jaime thought absurdly about how Brienne must have to have all these dresses tailored to fit her exorbitant height. And some of them were absolutely hideous, as well. _Floral Pink_? She would be better off in nothing at all. 

Jaime closed the wardrobe door firmly and moved on to the desk. It was sparsely decorated save for a well-kept photograph. This one was of a young man, probably around fifteen years old. He looked shockingly familiar. Intrigued, Jaime flipped the photo over to see if there was anything on the back. In shaky, but obviously feminine, handwriting, it read:

_Robert Baratheon – May, 1919_

Brienne had claimed not to know Robert. Jaime stared at the picture, frowning. Something about this wasn’t right. At first glance, the fact that Brienne had a picture of Robert Baratheon wasn’t too surprising—most empty-headed girls around Brienne’s age had one. But this picture was taken years before Robert got famous. Having it implied she knew him personally. But Brienne had looked at Jaime with those big blue eyes and told him that she didn’t know him. He looked back at the picture. The facts did not line up.

Jaime placed the picture back on the desk and turned to go, planning to get the rest of the information from Addam and head back to the station for some time to think.

“Are you stalking me?” Brienne was at the door, sweaty hair matted above her blazing eyes. Her voice was caught somewhere between shock and anger, her stance defensive.

“No, I’m investigating. Close the door and come here,” Jaime said casually, very glad that he wasn’t still holding the picture of Robert.

“Why should I trust you? The last time we spoke, you admitted to killing your partner. After that, what would one _suspect_ be to you? Like you said, some people always get away with it.” This was too much. Jaime was tired. Tired of being hated and judged and _scowled at_ by this infuriating woman. Never mind that the rest of the world had been doing it for years. He was done.   
“It’s not the same thing,” Jaime almost growled. Despite her misgivings, Brienne had closed the door. Jaime approached her and there was something like fear in her eyes. It made him sick. “Why is everyone so simple-minded? These damn villagers and all the rest of the world. All everyone thinks about is Aerys, even if they’re too damnably polite to say anything. How could a man kill his own partner? He must have bought everyone off. What a _disgrace_. Is it a _disgrace_ to torture your suspects with fire? Is it a disgrace to put the whole precinct in your pocket so they’ll turn a blind eye when you rape a witness? No, that’s just fine, so long as you end up dead, killed by the golden boy without a heart. I thought you were smarter than that. Clearly I was wrong. You’re just like the rest of them.” Jaime stopped for breath, shaking, with no idea what had come over him. He had never told anyone, had never wanted to.

Brienne was staring at him, unable to come up with any words. She was still sweat-soaked from her dancing session, and her stringy hair was clinging to her face, her dress hugging curves that were not normally visible. She looked horrified. 

Jaime swallowed, waiting.

“Why didn’t you tell this to the police? If Aerys was hurting people, burning them, why didn’t you say anything?”

Jaime laughed, and the sound was disturbing even to his own ears. “What would it have mattered? I didn’t go to prison, more or less kept my job, and people will always stare. Sheep. My father always told me not be bothered with them, and I did my best.” Jaime ignored the obvious fact that he was telling her, one of the sheep. Clearly, that strategy hadn’t worked. “The police don’t care about that. I’ve always told you that there is no justice.”

“I think you’re in the wrong career, then,” Brienne breathed, almost too quietly for Jaime to hear. He snorted.

“Look like a dancer, do you?” 

Brienne blushed, but stood firm. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Case in point.” Brienne stared at him. “I know people think I’m dangerous, unreliable, a bad policeman, but I’m going to catch whoever killed Sansa Stark.”

“You should still tell someone.”

“I did,” And he regretted it desperately, wanted to take it back and let Brienne go back to hating him simply. At least that’s what he told himself.

“Brienne? Where are you? The show’s in fifteen minutes and Baelish is looking for you. You know what that—“ The voice was Renly’s, coming up the hall.

Brienne shouted out a hurried reply. “Coming, Renly! Give me one more minute. I have to change.” Then she turned back to Jaime. “Go in Sansa’s room and wait until we’ve gone.”

Jaime laughed, but this time it was genuine. “Trying to save my reputation, Brienne?”

“Get out,” she hissed and he did. As he stood waiting in the dead girl’s bedroom, he reflected that this felt much more like he was hiding from a jealous lover than an unexpected, awkward confession. The only person to share in the joke was already down the hall.

****************

The quietest corner of the Caswell’s barroom was not Jaime Lannister’s ideal venue for an interview regarding a murder, but there wasn’t much he could do. Renly Baratheon was dancing this evening, and was adamant about performing the droutines with Brienne, despite the fact that his other dancing partner had been found dead that morning. It turned out that he had a busy schedule tonight, and after his first dance, Renly had grudgingly consented to have a chat with Jaime.

“Well, the show must go on, I suppose,” he said, sliding onto the chair across from Jaime’s and wiping sweat from his brow. His smile was grim, though still devastatingly handsome. Jaime had not seen Renly since the latter had been a little boy, but both his resemblance to Robert and his utter dissimilarity from his brother struck him at once. Where Robert’s handsomeness was rugged, lived-in, the paragon of the manly ideal, Renly was groomed to perfection. His hair was slicked for dancing and there wasn’t a speck out of place on his outfit. Even his beard was trimmed to the utmost perfection.

“There’s not really much I can tell you about Sansa, Inspector,” Renly said, sipping some sort of strange peach cocktail. “I knew her better than most around here, I guess, but there isn’t much to say. She was sweet, very kind, and a good dancer. Terribly naive though, about many things.” Renly raised his eyebrows slightly at that, and Jaime smirked. He couldn’t help but think he knew what Renly meant. 

“I can imagine. Do you know if Sansa paid any special attention to the young men around here?”

Renly shook his head, smiling. “None. That girl had her head in the clouds a bit but she was aware that none of the men at the hotel were going to become her shining knight. Not that she didn’t flirt with a few, from time to time, but she spent most nights with the Martells.”

“What did you think of that?”

Renly looked at Jaime strangely. “What did I think of what? Doran was fond of her and the others tolerated her presence when playing bridge. That was about all there was to it.”

“Did you know that Doran was planning to make Sansa his heir?”

Renly raised his eyebrows. “Well, that explains it, then. Can’t say I’m particularly surprised. Sansa was a charming girl. That’s what happens.” He said it as one well accustomed to winning based on charm. Renly took another sip of his drink before continuing. “The girl was playing the game and the old man didn’t see it. She worked him well for a young girl, she did. It’s a pity it was cut so short.”

“You think Sansa was manipulating Doran?”

Renly shrugged noncommittally. “She was playing the game. We’ve all done it.”

Jaime grimaced. “Yes, we have. And Brienne? What do you think her part in the whole thing was?”

Renly laughed outright at that. “Brienne probably hasn’t got a clue. She’s a good dance partner, very loyal, but she’s not the sharpest.” Jaime nodded, frowning. It was strange how much of this town thought that Brienne was stupid. That had not been his experience when they’d met. Of course, she didn’t look too bright, especially when her thick lips were hanging open like a dying fish.

“Sansa didn’t spend much time with her. You’d be hard pressed to find two young women who were more different.”

“What do you remember happening last night?”

Renly finished his drink and waved for another one. “Sansa and I danced at half past ten, as usual. That was the last time I ever saw her.” He paused, apparently thinking. “I went to go meet a friend, also as usual. No idea what Sansa normally does between the dances, but when I came back at midnight, Brienne told me she was gone. She looked a bit guilty about it, come to think of it. Practically begged me not to tell anyone she was missing. I don’t know why she was so anxious, but I didn’t say anything. I thought that Sansa was probably at my brother’s house. All the young girls around were going, and Robert’s wife had taken Sansa under her wing a bit.”

“Cersei?” Jaime felt cold mentioning his sister’s name now. Oh, how times had changed.

Renly nodded, clearly not interested in that piece of information. “Anyway, I wasn’t too bothered by it, and couldn’t understand why Brienne wanted to keep it so quiet. But it was no trouble, and I had work to do. When it was time for the second dance, Brienne and I did a number. After that, I just cleaned up and went home. Nothing else to tell, I’m afraid. No idea who would have done Sansa in, although I’m certain she ruffled a few feathers if Martell was going to adopt the girl. Now, if you’d excuse me, I need to get ready for my next dance.”

Jaime thanked Renly, and the man left, leaving him with the bill. Typical Baratheon. Jaime paid, looking around briefly to see if Brienne was around before her dance, but there were no huge blondes in the crowd.

Later that night, back at the station, Addam prepared to fill Jaime in on what he had learned. He was anxious, playing with his pen and clearly displeased with his news. Jaime was tilting back in his chair again, looking for all the world like he was sitting through a tedious office meeting rather than a murder investigation.

“Nothing, Jaime. I’ve got nothing. The chambermaids were useless, jealous of Sansa, I think. They were in no hurry to clean her rooms, so the police managed to close the place off. Fat lot of good that did us, though. Turns out the only fingerprints there belonged to Sansa, and a couple from Brienne. None of them were anywhere suspicious. No signs of blood or struggle. No witnesses in the hotel. Absolutely nothing.”

“What about the bathroom? Didn’t you check into—“

RING! RING! Addam picked up the station telephone with a frown. As he listened to the person on the other hand, his face turned pale.

“What is it?” Jaime asked when Addam finally put the phone down.

“Some delivery man saw a bit of fire out on his rounds. Turns out there’s a car burning in Greenhand Quarry, just a few miles from here. There’s a burned body in there.”

Jaime stood up, all traces of lazy complacence gone. “Have they identified the plates on the car? Was there wildfire involved?” Jaime thought briefly of Aerys, so long ago. Brienne knew, but his oldest friend was still ignorant.

Addam’s mouth formed a grim line. “No, but the officer I talked to bets his hat that the car’s a Hollard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: The Tyrells scheme, Jaime and Brienne have another strange conversation, and a couple new players arrive on the scene.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Osmund is gross, Olenna is sassy, and Jaime and Brienne continue to have strange and inappropriate conversations. What else is new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at this speedy updating? I'm so great. Enjoy the read :)

Chapter 6

Jon Connington found the Caswell Luxury Hotel without much trouble. It glittered and flashed, an explosion of modernity in the rural Reach town. Jon did not know what had caused Doran Martell to ring him up so suddenly, but he had not spoken with the man in years, and if he was calling now, it must be urgent. 

Despite the tragedies in his life, Doran had certainly done well for himself. The huge suite that Jon was directed to easily outstripped any of the other lodgings on the premises. Jon waited for a moment after using the heavy brass knocker before Areo Hotah, Doran’s faithful valet, led him into the sitting room.

Doran Martell looked old. He was sitting in his wheelchair by the table, a blanket laid over his failing legs. Jon Connington had only seen Doran a few times since the accident that took nearly all of his family. Since then, Doran had withered physically, his body manifesting the grief of recent tragedy. His eyes, however, had never changed. They followed Jon as he entered, analyzing his every move. Jon knew that Doran had never been a man to act quickly, something that always set him apart in the business world. Some called him indecisive or even lazy, but those eyes told a different story. Doran Martell may be a man of caution, but when he acted, he struck like a snake. 

Just now he was waiting, and Jon smiled. It was good to see him after all these years, regardless of the circumstances. “I came when I could, Doran. I hope I wasn’t too late for whatever it was you needed. Areo said it was urgent?”

Doran nodded, though nothing about his posture denoted urgency. “I need your help, Jon. Haven’t you heard anything?” 

He shook his head without the slightest idea what his old friend could possibly mean. 

“Hmph. Musn’t have made the papers yet. Jon, there’s been a murder. I’ve gotten caught up in it and so have the Tyrells.”

Jon knitted his brows in confusion. “The Tyrells? But they are all the way out in Highgarden, right?”

“They have a summer house in Goldengrove. That’s where the body was found. In their library.”

Jon gaped, struggling to grasp the information. “In the library. Well, one of them must have done something stupid. Why are you involved with the roses?” The Tyrells and the Martells had bad blood between them that stretched for generations. With so few Martells left, there was currently a bit of a truce, but it was bound to be broken before long. Jon couldn’t fathom a reason why Doran would be involved with the Tyrells in any way.

“Jon, I knew the girl who was murdered. She worked here, at the Caswell, and she was very dear. Sansa Stark, her name was. A Northern girl with no family to speak of.”

Jon straightened in his chair, suddenly feeling very anxious. “Do people know this? Was it the Tyrells? Or someone else trying to frame them?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know. But that’s where you come it. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m an invalid now, and I just can’t do things the way I used to. I need to find out who murdered Sansa Stark, and you’re the best person for the job.”

Jon shook his head, believing he knew now what his friend wanted. “I can’t, Doran. I stopped police work years ago, and I’m perfectly happy now with being a tutor.” Doran opened his mouth to speak, but Jon cut him off. “I won’t play amateur detective. It’s not my job and it’s wrong. I’m sorry, but no.”

Doran nodded slowly as if he had expected exactly that response from his friend. “Just hear me out, Jon. I want you to hear everything I know and, after that, I’ll respect your decision, whatever it may be. Fair?”

The former detective nodded, unable to quench the curiosity that arose at such a strange case. It had been years since he’d lost the pride that had once made him believe he could solve anything, but he was intrigued nonetheless.

“I had started to play bridge with Sansa Stark…” Doran began, and so it was that Jon Connington heard everything that Doran knew or suspected about Sansa’s murder. By the time the aging man was finished, Jon’s tea had gone cold.

“And now they’ve got Detectives Lannister and Marbrand in to work the case.”

Jon nearly spilled his tea. “Jaime Lannister is working the case? But—but, after Aerys?”

Doran shook his head gravely. “Some men forget more easily than others. He was cleared of any charges, and now he’s on my case.” His eyes flashed dangerously. “Do you see what I need you for?”

It hurt to do it, but Jon shook his head. His priorities had changed in the years since he had known Doran, and he just wasn’t willing to give up working with his pupil to spend time with the likes of Jaime Lannister.

“I hate to say this, Doran, but I think your best bet is to talk to Olenna Tyrell.”

Doran gritted his teeth but nodded. “I don’t trust the woman further than I could throw her.” He looked down at his blanketed legs and smiled wryly. “As you can imagine, that’s not very far at the moment. If you won’t do it though, I suppose she’s the best hope I’ve got. Damn my legs. If only I was a bit younger I wouldn’t have to be relying on the likes of Olenna.”

“We all have to get old sometime, Doran. More’s the pity. I’m sure they’ll figure out who killed Sansa, and then you can rest your mind about it. Until then, keep your chin up, friend, and do call with any news.”

They said their goodbyes and Areo Hotah led Jon Connington to the door. As he walked down the expensive staircase, Jon couldn’t help feeling a well of guilt at not choosing to help Doran. Aegon was far more important to him, but still…

Jon Connington couldn’t help but feel that the whole thing was going to get worse before it got better.

****************

Olenna Tyrell was passing a pleasant morning on the public terrace of the Caswell when Jaime Lannister arrived. Detective Inspector Lannister looked tired, but unsurprised to see her sitting there.

“Waiting for the little birds to land on your shoulder, Olenna?” he asked, pointedly using her first name as he took a seat on the bench next to her.

“Oh no, no birds in this garden. Just me and you, Inspector.” She smiled sweetly. She enjoyed this part of the game immensely.

Jaime grimaced. “I figured it was too much to hope that _you_ would have flown south by now.”

“It’s summer. No need for me to be flying anywhere.”

Jaime nodded. “Especially not when there’s so much for you here. You just can’t resist, can you? Your whole family is like that. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you just moved Sansa’s body into your library for the amusement of it.”

“Not all of us. My son’s gone back to Highgarden. He can’t stand the scandal of it all.” In truth, Olenna had sent him back to keep him from sticking his foot in his own mouth, but she wasn’t about to do all of Lannister’s work for him. 

“Margaery seems quite excited about it, though. Did you tell her tales like these as bedtime stories, Olenna?”

“I’ll admit that my granddaughter does get a bit of a rush out of murder and mayhem, but she’s young. You’ll have to forgive her a few romantic ideas.” Then, she gave Jaime such a pointed look that he squirmed slightly.

“You know, Olenna,” Jaime said, starting to sound annoyed. “I know how much you love your game, but let’s not pretend right now. You’re here to solve the murder of Sansa Stark, and make certain that it doesn’t implicate your family. I’m here to solve the murder because that’s my job. For once, I believe that our goals align. What do you know so far?”

Olenna smirked, enjoying watching Jaime’s eyes begin to narrow with frustration. “I can’t say I know much of anything for a certainty. I would need more time.”

“Just because you don’t have evidence doesn’t mean you don’t know,” Jaime said shrewdly. This was turning out to be rather fun.

“If you insist, I can’t help thinking about Doran’s attachment to the girl.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow.

“Not like that. No, not at all. They were just both so very lonely, without any family to shield them from the world. I would say that Doran, despite his many failings, was perfectly innocent in this case, albeit a bit naive. For a man who has seen so much of the world, he can trust rather blindly.” In Olenna mind, Sansa was not the only person who fell into that particular category. “He saw what he wanted to see in Sansa, rather than what was actually there. Not that she was scheming against him, far from it. Just that little Sansa Stark may not have been put on this earth solely to amuse Mr. Martell’s fantasies.”

“You think she had a boyfriend,” Jaime surmised.

Olenna Tyrell had heard for years that Jaime Lannister was the least cunning of his family. Though his father refused to admit it, Olenna thought that he had felt similarly. During the investigation, however, she had begun to question the truth of that statement. “I think that if Sansa Stark had anyone in her life that Doran would not approve of, his image of her would be shattered, and both of them would go back to their lonely existences. While I would say that a boyfriend would thus be an unnecessary risk for Sansa Stark, I think we both know what people will do for love.”

Jaime’s face was schooled into blankness. It was an endearing effort, however vain. 

“So, Sansa may have been hiding a boyfriend from Doran in order to keep in his good graces. Then, more than likely, the boyfriend got angry at being shunted off to the side and killed her. You’re going to have to do better than that, Olenna.”

Doing better than that paltry theory was no challenge. “Of course, the real question is why Doran would suddenly latch onto Sansa as his possible heir. Yes, he was lonely, but he’s been lonely for eight years. The most obvious answer is that Daenerys and Osmund were moving on with their lives. You can hardly expect them to stick around forever with an old man with whom they have no blood relation. Doran probably sensed their distance from him, and began to reach out. He settled on Sansa Stark.” Olenna folded her hands neatly in her lap, daring Jaime Lannister to contradict her. He did not take the bait, but came at her from another direction.

“You seem to think that you have all of Westeros figured out, don’t you, Olenna?”

“We are all very much the same, Jaime. I see no reason to believe that I cannot know the minds of everyone here. They are, for the most part, so very simple.”

“You’re wrong. You can’t know everyone.” He said it with absolute conviction and no evidence whatsoever. Still, it made Olenna wonder. She put that piece of information away for the moment and continued to test her theory. 

“Do you know yet why Sansa’s body was found in the Tyrell house?”

Jaime frowned. “It seems that either she was killed at or near the hotel and then driven to the house for some reason or, more likely, she was driving with someone near the house and after they killed her, they stowed the body there.”

Olenna managed to smile without so much as moving her lips. “Absolutely not. This was all part of a plan. A plan that, I dare say, was a touch too complex because it all went wrong.”

Jaime didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, “Why did it go wrong, Olenna?”

“Oh, well, we all tend to believe that we’re so good at what do. So much better than everyone else because we think we’re so different. It’s a silly little flaw really, but it can cost you the world.”

Jaime opened his mouth to respond, but Olenna cut him off. “Oh hello, Margaery, dear. Do come sit down with us.”

****************

Margaery strolled into the garden arm in arm with Daenerys Martell, looking like the oldest of friends, even though Jaime was fairly certain that they had never met before.

“Dany, this is my grandmother, Olenna. She taught me everything I know. Grandmother, this is Daenerys Martell, Doran’s daughter-in-law.”

Olenna got up to shake Daenerys’ hand, all three of the women completely ignoring Jaime. That was just fine as long as they allowed him to hear what they were saying. The town may be more likely to whisper about Mace Tyrell’s connection to the murder, but as far as Jaime could tell, it was the ladies of the area who needed watching out for. 

A few minutes later, the four of them were seated at a little table on the terrace and Margaery and Daenerys were conversing eagerly about a party they had both attended earlier in the summer. The two young women seemed almost completely unaware of Jaime’s presence, although Olenna kept shooting him annoyingly calculating looks. All in all, it was not looking to be the most enjoyable late morning tea that Jaime had ever passed.

“It seems a bit silly, really, beating around the bush like this,” Margaery said suddenly. “I mean, we’re talking about parties and all when there’s been a murder.” The mood of the table changed instantaneously. Olenna and Jaime both looked up sharply from their tea, and Daenerys shifted uneasily in her chair.

“Are we allowed to talk about it? It’s an official investigation.” Jaime couldn’t be certain whether Daenerys was hedging out of propriety or something else. The young woman was aggravatingly difficult to read. Even more frustrating was that she directed her question at Olenna. The old woman deferred to Jaime, and he shrugged. Technically, it was not allowed, and some would have stopped the conversation in its tracks, but Jaime had information he wanted to learn, and he was not above getting it through unofficial channels. He wondered if Olenna had warned her granddaughter about what she said even when not being interviewed. More likely, she had told her specific things to say. Still, people could reveal a lot in conversations like these.

Margaery had just opened her mouth to say something when they were interrupted. It was Osmund Kettleblack.

“Hello, ladies. Inspector. Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“Osmund, we were just discussing yesterday’s…events,” Daenerys said delicately. She did not offer her brother-in-law a place at the table, but he did not seem to need invitation. He squeezed himself down right between Daenerys and Margaery, to the subtle displeasure of both women. 

Awkward silence reigned over the little breakfast table. Osmund, seeming not to feel it, spoke up. “So, Sansa Stark, then.” He smiled wider than Jaime would have thought tactful when mentioning a recently deceased girl. Did the man really not even have the brains to pretend a polite state of mourning? Then again, the rest of the table seemed just as eager to discuss the murder. The crime itself had been so far-fetched and strange that it seemed few people were able to tether it to any sort of tragedy. 

“I never met her,” Margaery said. “Strange, really. I know nearly all the girls in this part of the Reach, but I guess she was Northern. What was she like?” She directed her question at Daenerys.

Daenerys brushed her beautiful, silvery hair out of her face and frowned, clearly unsure what to say. “She was very kind. And—“

Osmund cut her off. “Oh Dany, stop being so political. She was childish, still wrapped up in fairy tales. Both her parents were gone, but she was still waiting for her gallant knight.” Osmund scoffed, and Daenerys narrowed her eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a dreamer. I think we were all a bit like that at her age. Now, I’ll admit that I don’t know why Doran was so fond of her, but that was hardly the girl’s fault.”

“She certainly learned her lesson the hard way,” Osmund replied without the slightest hint of remorse. 

Daenerys was beginning to go red with temper. “How dare you say that? How dare you call that justice, Osmund? No one deserves that fate, and certainly not a little girl like Sansa.” Jaime was now very glad to have sat through the party talk. This was becoming very interesting indeed.

Osmund laughed at his sister-in-law’s indignation. “Relax, Dany. I didn’t mean anything by it. So what if she wasn’t all that she was cracked up to be? None of us are. Still, we should have stepped in sooner.”

Daenerys blanched. “And done what? Doran was fond of Sansa, and we had no reason to think he’d do anything rash.”

Osmund looked ready to try to throw blame on Daenerys, but Olenna interceded. “I think that you will find, Mrs. Martell, that _men_ ,” her voice hardening on the word, “are rarely as cautious or composed as they seem to think they are. Just because they can fool themselves doesn’t mean that the rest of us need be entrapped as well.” Daenerys pursed her lips in thought, but Osmund was beginning to go red now as well.

“Be that as it may, Dany. You didn’t spend enough time with him. You and little Rhaego went on all your fun trips, and you spent the rest of your time consorting with—“

“Well, if you thought of Sansa as such a threat, then why didn’t you get her to lay off? Just a word would have done it, and she never would have been promised those fifty thousand pounds.” Daenerys thrust her nose in the air, and Jaime was forced to admire her pluck. 

Osmund was practically shaking. “Oh, don’t pretend that you didn’t want that Northern twerp out of the way just as much as I did.”

Instead of rising to his bait, Daenerys put her head in her hands, suddenly looking quite young. “Osmund, she’s dead. She was a little girl trying to make a name for herself in a cruel world and now she’s dead. You mustn’t say those things about her.”

“Why? I’m already a suspect, and I thought we’re not supposed to lie during investigations. That’s what I thought of the girl. Sue me.” Daenerys was watching Jaime out of the corner of her eye. At least one person had not forgotten that there was an active police officer sitting at their table. Either Osmund had, or he was too stupid enough not to care. Jaime felt it was safe to get in a question of his own.

“So then, what did you do when you found out about the adoption plans, since you were so surprised?”

Osmund turned what he clearly thought was a winning smile onto Jaime. “Well, at that point, there was no reason to make a fuss. Not that I didn’t want to have a word with the old man, but Dany here was the height of composure. Besides, neither of us wanted to upset the dear old fellow.” Jaime felt vaguely sick at the condescending tone that Osmund used for his father-in-law.

“There was absolutely nothing you could do, then?” Margaery Tyrell was leaning forwards in her seat, clearly lapping up the new information. Jaime could hear the unspoken _besides murder_ lurking in her words.

“It wasn’t our place, Margaery,” Daenerys said, casting a rather cold look at Osmund as she did so. “We are not his heirs by blood, and it is up to him to decide where he puts his own money. Of course, I’m surprised that he didn’t consider my son Rhaego for some inheritance. They may not be related by blood, but Doran always saw that my son is destined for greatness.” Daenerys’ eyes flashed with pride and protectiveness. For just a moment they contained the wild light that Jaime associated most with Dany’s father. Then they cleared, and she took a sip of tea. It was a good reminder that Daenerys’ composure did not eliminate her from the list of suspects. That sort of thing tended to run in families, after all.

“I blame Brienne,” Osmund said, completely out of the blue.

“Why?” Jaime couldn’t understand it. What could Brienne have to do with any of it?

“She’s the one who brought Sansa in. None of us would be in this mess if Brienne hadn’t been so keen on her loyalty to the girl’s mum. The girl can dance, but she’s not that good. Should have stayed in Winterfell, if you ask me. No good comes of those types heading south.”

“You can’t be serious.” For the first time, Jaime felt invested in the conversation as more than an observer. “Brienne could never have foreseen what was going to happen. All she was doing was giving a friend’s daughter a chance at a better life. No one ever knows where their decisions will lead them, and certainly not here.”

Daenerys sighed. “Be reasonable, Osmund. Brienne could never have known. I’ll admit that it’s hard though, not wishing that we could all just go back and change what happened. Sansa not coming, that would be the simplest solution. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to be done.” 

“Well that’s just it, then. Nothing to be done. That’s the whole problem,” Osmund groused. He really did seem unnecessarily angry about the whole thing, and Jaime’s suspicions were doing nothing but mount. Unfortunately, not only did Osmund have the alibi of playing bridge during the window of the murder, but he just didn’t seem smart enough to pull the thing off. 

Margaery was just about done with Osmund’s attitude. Reaching rudely around him, she addressed Dany. “So, what would you say about Sansa? Was she pretty? I mean, of course I saw her after, but by that point she hardly looked…human.” Margaery shuddered daintily.

Daenerys was all too glad to be able to change the subject. “Yes, I’d say she was. Not royal, but well bred. Very charming with a nice smile. That goes a long way in this world.” The two young woman smiled at each other in a sort of conspiracy. 

Osmund dismissed that assessment as well. “She was more than half a child, not knowing a thing about the world. Some might call that innocence, but by seventeen, a girl should know better. A tragedy, sure, but not one that couldn’t be foreseen. I mean, pretty girls ought to know better than—“ Osmund broke off, and his bushy eyebrows lifted high onto his forehead. “Who is it that we have here? Dany, dear, don’t tell me you invited _him_. And people say that I’m the tactless one.” 

The entire table turned to look in the direction of Osmund’s gaze. A garishly dressed, albeit handsome young man was striding towards them, long hair flowing out behind him. Jaime couldn’t be certain, but he thought the ends of his hair were suspiciously blue-tinged. 

“Daario?” Daenerys made a small noise in the back of her throat, and for a moment, her composure deserted her. However, she swept to her feet, and taking a deep, steadying breath, went to meet Daario along the walkway. As she approached, he smiled enigmatically and took her hand.

Margaery Tyrell let out a small breath. “Daario Naharis? I didn’t know he was on this side of the narrow sea.”

Osmund nodded, looking smug. “Oh, he’d follow Dany anywhere. Absolutely dotes on her, treats her like royalty. I imagine she must have given him a ring this morning without telling me. Surprised he came so soon though. Maybe he’s hoping to comfort her in her grief.” Osmund’s smile was sly. Jaime was beginning to think that this town had more than its fair share of undesirable men. The question now was which one was also a murderer. 

However much Jaime disliked Osmund, he could still be a valuable source of information. The man liked to feel knowledgeable and important. Jaime was just about to ask him more about Daario when Areo Hotah appeared, practically out of thin air.

“Mr. Kettleblack, Mr. Martell has need of you upstairs.” 

Osmund sighed lightly, and got up, glancing at his sister-in-law. “Tell Dany where I’ve gone, would you? I probably won’t be back. The old man takes his time, that’s for certain. Excellent seeing you all. I hope we meet again some time.” And with that, Osmund followed Areo, all charming smiles and good nature once more. The man’s mercurial moods were setting Jaime on edge. 

No sooner had he exited the terrace than Jaime turned back to the Tyrell women. “So, Olenna, what do you make of our fine, extended Martells? Snakes yet or not?”

“You and I both know that Daenerys is all dragon, for better or for worse. And dragons protect their eggs, and the interests of said eggs.” Olenna Tyrell smiled in that way she had, like she was playing a game that no one else even knew about.

“Daenerys would do anything for Rhaego. Even, perhaps, kill.”

“Wouldn’t any mother?” Margaery put in.

“You’d be surprised, dear,” Olenna said. “Some do a good deal less. Others, quite a bit more.” Jaime thought he knew to whom she was referring. Mace Tyrell was the official head of the Tyrell household, but it was no secret where the power behind that throne lay. 

“And Osmund?” Jaime did not hide the note of distaste in his voice.

Olenna sniffed. “The worst sort of man. Unscrupulous, unintelligent, and unable to close his mouth.”

Margaery laughed. “A murderer, though? Do you think he’s got the brains?”

“We shall see soon enough. Now, however, is that Renly Baratheon?” Indeed it was Renly Baratheon heading up the path towards Daenerys and Daario. He was in his tennis outfit with a racquet slung over one shoulder. 

Margaery answered. “Renly gives tennis lessons to Dany. I think she might have fancied him for a bit, but, well, he wasn’t interested.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Jaime said drily. “How is your brother, Loras? He’s not here, is he?”

Margaery’s lips twitched. “No, not right now. He comes and goes. He knew about the incident of course, but he’s working and we thought it would be better if he stayed away. Isn’t that right, Grandmother?”

Olenna was just about to confirm this news when they were interrupted by a small shape streaking towards them. Rhaego, Daenerys’ son by her first marriage, appeared eagerly at Jaime’s side. “Hello, Detective Inspector Lannister, have you solved the murder yet?”

Jaime couldn’t help but be slightly amused at the interruption. For such a protective mother, Daenerys did let her son roam around quite a bit on his own. “Not yet, Rhaego. You’ll be the first to know when we do. Have you met Mrs. Tyrell and young Miss Tyrell?”

Rhaego appeared to notice Jaime’s companions for the first time. He smiled broadly at them. “Pleased to meet you. Mum’s told me all about the two of you.”

Olenna smiled slightly predatorially. “Not much of it good, I suppose.” 

Rhaego shook his head enthusiastically. “She doesn’t mind Margaery too much. Never mind that though, I’ve been trying to solve the murder myself since you lot are taking so long about it.”

Jaime laughed outright at that. “And? Figured it out yet?”

“No, haven’t found any clues or anything. But you know what I have got?” He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, purple amethyst. “Found this when I was off searching the bar. It was under one of the tables, and I just know that it comes from Sansa’s hairnet. I recognized it right away. She must have lost it the other night. There’s a show and tell at my school next week, and I’m going to bring it in. I can tell all my classmates that it’s from the hair piece of the murdered girl. I’ll be sure to get the teacher’s prize.” Rhaego was smiling from ear to ear, but Jaime looked at Olenna. Their eyes met. When Sansa had been found lying in the Tyrell library, her hairnet had been intact. 

“Have you seen my mum?” Rhaego went on, oblivious.

“She’s over there, sweetie,” Margaery said kindly, pointing Rhaego in the right direction. He scampered off, but Jaime wasn’t paying him any attention.

Brienne Tarth was making her way along the path from the same direction that the tennis players had just taken. She looked harried, and didn’t notice them immediately.

“Brienne!” Margaery called out happily. It seemed the young woman never passed up the chance to socialize, even with someone as unladylike as Brienne. “Come join us! We’ve just been having a spot of tea while we discuss the case.

Brienne looked less than pleased to join them, especially when she saw Jaime. However, she was too polite to refuse Margaery’s offer and slid into the proferred seat. Olenna smiled at her in that sharp way she had. Jaime tried his usual grin, but doubted that it was effective. Brienne looked away.

 

“You needn’t be nervous dear, we don’t bite,” Margaery tried to encourage her. Jaime snorted. Margaery shot him a scandalized look, but didn’t deign to address it.

“Do you care to try your hand at a bit of detecting, Brienne?” Margaery asked conversationally. She was practically glowing from the excitement of it all, but Brienne looked significantly less happy about it. 

“No, not particularly. I don’t know how you can find it so exciting. It’s horrible. Working last night felt strange, but Mr. Baelish was very insistent. He says that the show must go on, and I suppose he’s right, but it doesn’t feel good.”

Margaery was all sympathy now. “Of course. I’d forgotten you actually knew Sansa. Are you all right? It really must be terrible for you.”

Brienne nodded, looking younger than Jaime had ever seen her. Her ugly face was still, but her eyes glistened slightly. “I wish I’d never told Sansa to come here. If I hadn’t…but I swore to her mother that I’d do whatever I could. Obviously, I should have just stayed out of it.”

“We never know what our oaths will mean until it’s too late.” Jaime could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. Brienne was startled. She had been studiously avoiding his gaze until then. Now her eyes landed on him with the force of a blow, and he could feel judgement mixed with curiosity in her gaze.

“Margaery,” said Olenna, “we’ve been out here far too long. I promised Loras that I’d ask Mr. Baelish about a room at the Caswell for the fall. He expects his business to take him out this way again. Come along.” Margaery and Olenna made to leave. Brienne tried to get up too.

“Oh no, dear. Your tea’s just arrived. There’s no need for you to go as well,” Olenna pushed her back down, hard for such an old woman, and set off with Margaery.

He was alone in the garden with Brienne. Jaime wanted to say something, anything, to lighten the mood, but his mind was blank. Brienne was dressed casually for the day. Perhaps she had a day off. Maybe he should ask her.

“Are you in love with Renly?” he asked instead.

Brienne’s head shot up, and she made a strange noise in the back of her throat. “No!”  
Jaime kept watching her. Her eyes were stormy today, confused. They stuck out oddly in her flat, somewhat doughy face. She looked away again.

“I—I used to. Fancy him, I mean. But I gave that up a long time ago.”

Jaime wondered how long a long time was for someone not even past her teenage years. “Did you ever make any advances?” Jaime ask, unsure of why he was curious. What were her schoolgirl crushes to him?

Brienne blushed an even deeper red. “No, I wouldn’t dare. It was never real, anyhow. He’s older and so handsome and…” 

Completely uninterested in anyone like Brienne, Jaime knew. “Distant?” he supplied again, with the sort of tact that Addam was always begging him for. It wasn’t enough.

“Why am I telling you this?” Brienne demanded, almost angry with him.

“Because I’ve done things so much worse than fancy Renly and lived to laugh about it.”

“You don’t laugh about Aerys,” Brienne said quietly, and it was true. They were silent for a long time after that. 

“I’ve done worse things than that, Brienne. I’m not ashamed of Aerys.” He should have stopped there. He intended to. But somehow, he couldn’t. There was something about Brienne, something that compelled him to seek…what? Absolution? He didn’t know. Abruptly, he asked, “Do you know my sister?”

“What?” Brienne asked, clearly not following. And then: “Yes.” Her voice was suddenly bitter. “She comes to the Caswell sometimes. She’s not—I—we’ve never gotten along very well. You two are very different.”

Jaime laughed then, sharp and bitter. Decades of faith and faithfulness, and Brienne could see in a moment what he never had. “I used to believe that we were the same, two parts of a whole.”

“You’re nicer than she is, if that says anything.” Brienne looked nervous, almost afraid at her own boldness. Jaime’s tea was getting cold.

“I don’t know that it does, but thank you. She wasn’t always like that, or maybe I just never saw it. Who knows? As children we did everything together. She got whatever she wanted, but I didn’t mind. She was charming and beautiful and perfect. I wanted to be with her forever, Brienne.”

Brienne frowned, not quite understanding, but getting there. 

“We used to play house, play at being husband and wife. She kissed me once, not like a sister, and said that I mustn’t tell anyone. I never did, and every night I dreamed of the two of us, king and queen of a castle someplace. I didn’t understand…anything. The world or my sister. She promised me she’d come back for me, one day. Once she had achieved her dreams. She told me she loved me, and all I had to do was wait. I did, for years. Then, she married Robert Baratheon. I knew then. Knew that she had never planned to come back for me. All this time she had been using me, so that she could have more for herself. Some nights, I still dream about her, though.”

“Do you regret it?” Brienne asked into the silence, and Jaime started. Of all the questions, the thousands of scathing, valid questions, this was the one she asked. The one that haunted him every day.

“Loving her? I can’t imagine my life without that. I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be anything near myself. I regret what I have done for her, what I’ve given up and what I’ve taken. Joining the police force was the best decision I’ve ever made, the only one I’ve made for myself, really.”

“That’s horrible.” Brienne said, and Jaime smiled half-heartedly.

“I’m horrible. You can’t deny it, not with the things I’ve told you.”

Brienne shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. Not since Sansa died. The world has just gotten so much darker.”  
  “Murders do that to you. Show us what was always there, just waiting. You need to be careful. The truth won’t protect you now. The town is out for blood, and villagers aren’t picky. Especially with people who aren’t just like the rest of them.”

“How could anyone think I did it?” Brienne looked lost, completely at sea, whether from his confession, or her situation, or the shadows of the world, he could not be sure.

“They think you knew, set Sansa up. I can tell. They think you’re jealous, wanted what you could never have.”

“Because I’m ugly and not charming and never going to inherit a penny.” Brienne sounded pensive.

“Yes. Because of that.” Jaime made no attempt to lie.

“Well, then,” And Brienne gave a small smile, her horsey teeth poking out. “I guess you’ll just have to find the real murderer then.”

“Prove I’m not nearly as incompetent as I seem.” Jaime smiled at her, and if the silence wasn’t comfortable, it was at least a bit lighter. He had confessed so much, so much that should have remained hidden, that did not deserve to see the light of day, especially during a murder investigation. And yet, she hadn’t run away, hated him perhaps even a little less. Jaime did not know what to think, so he took a sip of his cold tea.

“Jaime Lannister, have you still not drunk your tea?” It was Olenna Tyrell, ambling down the path with that knowing smile firmly in place. “Why didn’t you tell me that there was a body found in a car burned down at Greenhand?”

For a moment, Jaime had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. The old woman did not seem perturbed. 

“I heard about it from your partner. He was over by the tennis courts a minute ago.”

“Honestly, is everyone out in the gardens?” Jaime asked, trying to collect himself. He didn’t think he had ever been this shaken. Damn Brienne.

“It’s a very nice day, and roses do have their charms,” Olenna smiled at her own little joke before continuing. “The body, though. I suspect it belongs to one Ygritte Wilde. That quarry runs right along the route she would have to take to get from Highgarden to her home. Were you aware that the receptionist at this fine hotel is a veritable well of local gossip? Apparently, Ygritte is Northern with a boyfriend up there. She leads wilderness trips for young girls from Highgarden, taking them up North to experience the dying natural places and all that nonsense.” Olenna wrinkled her nose slightly at that. Someone didn’t like camping, apparently. “The road also leads straight through Goldengrove.”

“You think there’s a connection,” Jaime said, finally caught up.

“The Reach is hardly a place known for many shocking murders,” Olenna reasoned.

“You never find murders shocking.”

“Perhaps not, but Ygritte could have seen something. Anyone willing to kill once could kill again. Even again after that.”

“Who else is going to die, Olenna?” Jaime asked bluntly, weary of the old woman’s games.

Olenna chuckled. “I’m not certain yet, but I’m sure we have a bit of time. The killer isn’t desperate yet. Besides, knowing for certain would ruin all the fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Another body, Pycelle pontificating and Brienne's legs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More information on the second body, dirt on the Martells, and, of course, Brienne's legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll!

Detective Sergeant Addam Marbrand brought a handkerchief up to his nose in an attempt to dampen the smell of burning metal. His success was limited, and the acrid scent was made worse by the slight hint of roasting meat. Someone had been burned alive here. Addam looked over to his partner to see what he thought of the quarry crime scene, but Jaime wasn’t looking at him. He seemed troubled, like there was a decision he was struggling to make. He hadn’t said anything to Addam, so it must be personal. Addam would have liked to ask what was wrong, but he didn’t dare. They needed to stay focused on the case, and any other problems had to wait.

Sighing and cursing the gods who had landed him with such a temperamental—albeit talented—partner, Addam turned back to the car. 

As it so happened, the quarry was about two miles off the main road north from Highgarden, along a trail barely wide enough for a single car. It was the ideal dumping ground for a body, and it was only through strange luck that the police had discovered it so quickly. The flaming car had been called in the night before by a man named Sam Tarly.

Sam was a massively fat young man with many chins that wobbled anxiously when he spoke. According to him, he had been delivering newspapers for the _Night’s Watch_ , a paper that he claimed to be prestigious and venerable. As far as Addam was concerned, any local southern newspaper named after a long defunct northern institution would not be much of a crowd-pleaser. Alas, poor Sam seemed very proud of his work and he was eager to tell the two detectives what he knew.

“I was delivering the _Night’s Watch_ , just as I usually do, when I saw an orange glow off to the left. At first I thought it might be some sort of atmospheric disturbance, since I had been reading about all sorts of visual illusions in Sky Science, which is really quite a fascinating new book that comprehensively amasses what scientists have been learning in the last few years about our atmosphere and how pressure changes can—”

“What did you do when you saw the glow?” Jaime cut in, obviously trying not to roll his eyes, although a small smile was playing about his lips. 

Sam blushed, running thick fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away. Anyhow, when I saw the glow, I realized it didn’t fit any of the descriptions in my books, so the only other option was that there was a fire. I would have gone myself, but then my papers would be late, and I don’t like fire much. So I called the police and let them handle it.”

“Very wise, Mr. Tarly,” Jaime said, and Addam was having trouble discerning whether he was mocking the man or not. Sam seemed not to know either and he hurried off soon after that. 

As Addam waited for Jaime to finish talking with the officers who had discovered the car, he was reminded of the absolute drudgery that police work could sometimes become. It was all well and good to take the Olenna Tyrell approach to murder investigations, popping in and out with the occasional brilliant insight, but the day to day stuff wasn’t nearly so fun. Those Tyrells certainly were opportunistic. Like as not, Olenna would swoop in at the last moment and steal all the glory while he and Jaime slogged through procedure. Ah well, that was just the way of the world.

Jaime was walking back over to him. “Looks like whoever did this was trying to cover something up. The victim was already dead, or at least unconscious, by the time the car was set alight.”

“Thank the Seven,” Addam grimaced.

“Well, she’s dead either way. At least we think it’s a she. Whatever was left of her shoe is too small to be a man’s, though it’s not exactly ladylike. Could be that Olenna is right.”

“Olenna? What was she saying?” Addam was lost.

Jaime looked distracted again. “Oh, just that she thinks it was Ygritte Wilde who got burned and that it’s all connected. She could be right if the victim was some sort of wilderness camp leader.”

One of the uniforms ran up to them, looking both slightly sick and very eager.

“Detectives, we found this on the body.” The man held something out in his hand. It was a button for _Beyond The Wall: Youth Wilderness Exploration_. Jaime raised his eyebrows.

“Well, that settles it then. Ygritte Wilde is looking like a pretty good bet.”

Addam felt uneasy about the whole thing. “Do you really think this Ygritte girl just happened to see something and then got killed? Seems a lot of work if the killer could have just threatened her into silence. Do you buy it?”

“Not remotely,” Jaime said, but he headed back to the police car without further comment.

Back at the station, both of them were now busy with the task of scraping together Ygritte Wilde’s personal life. Jaime told Addam what Olenna had learned, and they spent the next few hours making phone calls to confirm these facts and add a few more. When they had exhausted that line of research, they were left with a daunting task before them.

It was time to notify Ygritte’s family.

As it turned out, however, she didn’t seem to have much of one. All they could find after perusing the meager records from north of the Wall and listening to several local gossips over the phone was that she had had a boyfriend named Jon Snow.

Jaime was the one who called. Addam tried not to listen as his partner broke the news. He could only imagine what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of those calls and, frankly, he didn’t want to. 

Jaime grimaced as he set the phone down and stretched his legs up onto the desk. “Well, that was predictably terrible. I asked him about motive. Says he knows nothing, and besides, he’s too far away to be involved directly.”

Addam sighed sympathetically. “That was a long shot anyway. I have a feeling this one’s closer to home. Speaking of feelings, what got you all upset today? Did you have another fight with your sister?”

A pen holder crashed to the floor as Jaime’s hand jerked spastically to the right. “Not Cersei.” His voice was somewhat strangled. “Nothing happened. It’s none of your business, Addam. We’re here to work on this case. Nothing else.”

“All right, then.” Addam took a step back, concerned by his friend’s behavior. Jaime was visibly agitated, but Addam had more sense than to push it. His partner could be dangerously loyal to his secrets.

“Addam, keep digging up what you can on Ygritte. Preferably about how the hell she ended up in Podrick Payne’s car, burnt in a quarry. I have to go the Caswell. I’ve left something behind.”

Addam didn’t even bother to ask what he had left, knowing there was no chance he’d get a straight answer.

****************

There was something about the way that Brienne danced that made the world stand still.

Jaime was back in the studio, watching Brienne and Renly practice, trying to decide what it was that set her apart. The power of her jumps, perhaps, but that didn’t seem quite right.

She saw him, but this time finished the dance before coming over. Renly was frowning, clearly not keen on the interruption of another practice session.

“What do you want?” Brienne asked, but maybe her tone wasn’t quite as hostile as it had been before. 

“Just a word,” Jaime grinned, and Renly scowled. “Renly, you can leave. We have no need of you.” Renly raised an eyebrow, but left without protest, muttering something about private studios as he went.

“A girl by the name of Ygritte Wilde was found in a quarry last night, burned alive in Podrick Payne’s car,” Jaime said the moment the door closed.

Brienne’s mouth was open. “Pod? He couldn’t possibly have anything to do with it.”

Jaime grimaced. “You’re far too trusting. People are rarely what they seem to be. However, it is certainly possible the car was stolen. Podrick seems the sort to leave things lying about. Besides, it takes a special kind of idiot to burn someone they killed in their own car. No, I don’t think he did it, but it raises interesting questions, doesn’t it?”

Brienne was obviously thinking hard. “Stealing Pod’s car would put the murderer at the Caswell on the night of Sansa’s murder. That’s quite the coincidence.”

“Exactly. So why did Sansa’s murderer also steal a car and murder another girl. That requires quite the elaborate plan. And we still don’t know what they’re after. It’s always possible that Ygritte was the original murder and that it was Sansa who was collateral damage.” Jaime put a hand to his forehead, suddenly very tired.

“You shouldn’t be telling me this. I’m a suspect,” Brienne looked around the studio as if there might be someone hiding behind a curtain, waiting to arrest them both.

“Not nearly my most grievous offense against the law, Miss Tarth. Besides, you can keep a secret. I trust you.”

“Why?” And the question was about more than official police procedure.  
“You already know my darkest secrets, and you haven’t gone to the police or the media about them. Why start now?” That was not the answer, and both of them knew it. 

“So that was a test, was it?” She looked around again. “The things you told me? Just a test. That’s an awfully big gamble.”

Jaime shrugged. “No, of course not. That was…something else.” Brienne couldn’t bring herself to ask. “My point still stands though, I can trust you, and there’s an advantage to working with someone not on the force. A different perspective. Besides, I think any investigation could do with a Brienne Tarth.” 

Brienne blushed slightly. “They could do with a Jaime Lannister as well.” She didn’t seem to realize what she’d said until the words were out of her mouth. She looked away.  
Jaime laughed. “There are no men like me, Brienne. Only me. And now, I think you’d better go find Renly. He’s a bit cross about not being able to practice.”

It was honesty, Jaime realized as he headed out to his car. That was what made Brienne such a good dancer. There was no deceit in her performance, no guile. Just Brienne.

 

****************

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Addam asked as Jaime returned to the office, looking a bit rumpled but otherwise definitely more relaxed.

“It’s hard to tell.” Jaime flashed Addam one of his dazzling grins, and Addam sighed inwardly. Jaime Lannister had been his closest friend since childhood, and yet sometimes he felt he hardly understood the man at all. As if Addam needed more confusion in his life, what with this case wearing on his every nerve. 

“That’s all right, then. Now we can focus. Sit down, I want to tell you what I’ve dug up about Ygritte Wilde.”

What had taken hours of phone calls and errands could be summed up for Jaime in a few paltry sentences. Ygritte Wilde had been a young girl of nineteen with unknown familial relations. A few years previously, she had dropped out of school to pursue her goal of becoming a stunt actress in films. Apart from the occasional small gig, however, she was unemployed and forced to start working as a guide on trips for young girls. Having grown up beyond the Wall, she was an adept outdoors-woman and adventurer. She had disappeared the day before Sansa’s death on a trip into Highgarden to meet with the girls she was planning to take North. There was still absolutely no explanation for how she had ended in dead in Podrick Payne’s car.

“It really is the settings that are the trouble in this one,” Jaime mused when he finished speaking. “First, a dancer from several towns over ends up in the Tyrell library and then an independent adventuring lady is found in a quarry in a car belonging to someone that we do not believe she had ever met.”

“Frustrating, isn’t it?” It was nice to see Jaime putting his full focus onto the case at last. 

“There’s something missing. I wonder if Brienne would have made a good stuntwoman. She’s got the legs…” Jaime trailed off. Addam rolled his eyes. Clearly, focus had been too much to hope for. 

“I’ve got a bit of interesting information on Daenerys and Osmund for you as well,” Addam tried half-heartedly to get his partner back on track. He had spent too much time with Jaime not to know that these non sequiturs were just how he worked.

“Her legs, Addam. It has to do with her legs.” Jaime was tapping his pen frantically on the table and his eyes looked somewhat deranged. Legs. That was a new one.

“What?” 

Jaime shook himself. “Never mind, I can figure that bit out later. Daenerys and Osmund. Did you find motive?”

Addam smiled brightly. Finally, something was moving in this extraordinarily odd case. “In fact, I have. Remember the fifty thousand pounds that Sansa was going to get?”

Jaime nodded, the rate of his pen-tapping increasing.

“Well, at first we thought that that wasn’t much of a motive for two well-off, well provided-for young people. After all, they had plenty to live on.”

Jaime interrupted. “At a guess, perfect princess Daenerys and slimy Osmund have somehow managed to squander what good Doran so generously gave them, and are now in need of more.”

“Uh, yes,” Addam said, rather miffed that Jaime had jumped into the middle of his story. “That’s exactly it. You see, after they received their money, everything must have been going well for a few years. But then, Daenerys invested in a company called Three Dragons Enterprises. Her husband, Quentyn, who was alive at the time, was powerless to stop her. When the company went up in flames, they got burned pretty badly, and since Quentyn’s death, Daenerys has never managed to make it all back up.”

Jaime put his head in his hands. “Targaryens, fire and dragons. When will they learn?”

Addam decided to let that cryptic comment go as well. “I don’t know, but Osmund’s in trouble as well. Turns out he’s a gambler. Not much of a surprise, if you ask me.”

“Why did Arianne Martell marry that man?” Jaime asked.

The question had been nagging Addam as well. From what he had heard of the late Martell heiress, she had been beautiful, intelligent and ambitious. He couldn’t begin to reconcile that with choosing to marry Osmund Kettleblack. “Beats me. Perhaps she wanted something from him, but died before she could get it? Can’t imagine it was for love.”

Jaime laughed at that. “Not a very lovable chap, is Osmund? And a gambler too. That just rounds out the package, I suppose. His gambling got him into debt, I’m sure, and now the Iron Bank of Braavos is on his heels. Then, he hears that Doran is giving away a large amount of funds to a girl he hardly knows.”

“They both have motive for murder,” Addam concluded.

“Yes, and they also have airtight alibis. Fancy giving Pycelle a ring to confirm that time of death?” 

No, Addam did not fancy giving the doddering old man a call, but it had to be done. With a sigh, he picked up the phone.

“Hallo? Ah, Detective Sergeant, lovely to talk to you. I was just on way my back in. I stopped at the Caswell for some, ah, business, and then as I came back, I heard you call. What is it you need?”

Addam willed himself to have patience. “I just had a quick question, Doctor. Are you absolutely certain that Sansa Stark was killed before midnight? Without a doubt? Because if not…”

Pycelle huffed into the phone. “Of course I’m certain, Detective. I say nothing unless I am absolutely convinced it is the case. Sansa Stark died of strangulation before midnight. Though it is interesting to note that she had been drugged with a sedative before being killed, that fact in no way influenced her time of death. And before you ask, there were no other physical ailments or conditions that could have made her body appear to have been dead longer than it was. I am sorry, Detective, but that’s all I have to say on the matter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to. Good day, Detective.”

Addam hardly got out a “good day” of his own before the other man was off the line. “Word to the wise, Jaime. I have just discovered that the best way to quickly end a conversation with Doctor Pycelle is to question his judgment.”

Jaime laughed. “An excellent tip, Addam. I shall remember that in times of great need. Pity about the time of death though. We’ll have to come up with another angle. I’ve been thinking. Ygritte wanted to be in the film business. Is there a chance she knew Robert? There’s far too much Baratheon in this case for my liking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Dany and Margaery have a chat, Brienne realizes the precariousness of her situation, and Osmund is, unsurprisingly, still a dick.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery meets Daario, Olenna knows a lot, and Jaime gives Brienne a warning.

Doran Martell lay stretched out on his elegant four poster bed. His room was bedecked with lavish trappings that could do nothing to soothe his grief. He lived in comfort and would for the rest of his days, but he was not a happy man. The faces of his children, solemn Quentyn, vivacious Arianne, and young Trystane floated behind his eyelids, accusing. He had let them all down, done what no father should do: allow his children to die before him. And now Sansa Stark. Hers was the face that haunted him the most frequently now. Bright and pretty, with beautiful auburn hair and a charming smile.

He had let her down as well. Enticed her but not protected her. Raised her up and then let her fall. He did not want to imagine her in the Tyrell library, bloated and still. He could not bear it.

He rang the bell by his side, and Areo Hotah appeared.

****************

“Olenna seems like a very sharp older lady. It must be rather difficult to slip a thing past her.”

Daenerys and Margaery had met in the lobby of the Caswell and decided to have a chat. Margaery was not convinced that this was a coincidence. Dany might have been complimenting her grandmother’s astuteness, but Margaery knew that Dany, too, possessed her fair share of shrewd calculation. All the better. Margaery would not pass up the opportunity to wangle a bit of information herself. 

“It is a bit difficult, yes. But contrary to what she thinks, it can be done.” Margaery winked conspiratorially, and Dany laughed.

“Do tell.” 

Margaery smiled enigmatically. “Well, I may pop out to the occasional unsavory gathering, though nothing too wild, I’m afraid. Have to hold up the good Tyrell name, after all. And you? What with Rhaego and your father-in-law, I don’t imagine you get out much.” Margaery expected Dany to confirm it, but instead, she looked down guiltily at her hands.

“To tell you the truth, Margaery, I’m afraid I haven’t been spending as much time with Doran as I should. It’s my duty to protect him, and he really has been ever so kind to me. He even treated Rhaego like a grandson, although they have no blood relation. I was very good about it for a while, and we had a grand time. He’s a brilliant man. You might not know it to look at him, but he’s just as clever as your grandmother there.”

Margaery sniffed doubtfully.

“He is, but never mind that. I used to spend so much time with him, but then…well, I suppose I just got a bit tired of living out my days with an old man. I’m still young, and Rhaego needs a father, not a grandfather.”

“You met someone,” Margaery interjected, well aware of where this story was going. 

Dany sighed. “Yes, I did. Daario Naharis. You must have seen him in the garden earlier. He’s very devoted to me, came as soon as I rang him up. Unfortunately, I don’t know if…well…”  
Margaery nodded sympathetically. She could guess at what Dany was trying to say. There were very few young men that her grandmother approved of, and she imagined that even more pressure was put on Dany.

“Anyway,” Dany continued, “Daario doesn’t really have anything to do with it. I still could have kept an eye on Doran, dropped in for tea a few times, but I didn’t, and he ended up with Sansa Stark. He was lonely, and I knew it, but I was being selfish. If I had done something, spent more time with him, Sansa Stark would never have ended up in this mess. She was far too young and inexperienced to be playing the sort of game she got mixed up in.”

Margaery was surprised at the level of Dany’s remorse over the matter. It made her wonder if there was something she was hiding, a deeper reason for feeling responsible. “It really isn’t your fault, Dany. All of Westeros doesn’t rest on your shoulders, you know.”

Dany huffed. “Maybe not, but it certainly can feel like it. It wasn’t easy growing up as the only reminder to the wealthy of King’s Landing that the Targaryens used to be the best of them. And after my father died, I was on my own. I married Rhaego’s father, Drogo, as soon as I left school, but he died before our son was born. That left me with a young son, a dying legacy, and few prospects. Then, Quentyn came along, and everything was all right for awhile. He was a quiet, solemn sort, Quentyn was, but very kind. I loved him. After he died, it was me taking care of Rhaego again, but now with Doran added to the mix. Osmund never did do much of anything. And now this. Poor Sansa Stark dead, Doran grieving, and all the rest of us thrown under suspicion. It’s just rather a lot, that’s all.” 

To Margaery’s great surprise, her newly-made friend looked close to tears. Dany was usually so composed, and Margaery was torn between pity for the woman and a distaste for her weakness. Didn’t this girl know that only family could see you cry real tears? Unless it was an act, of course, but Margaery doubted she had that much acumen. Margaery may be around Dany’s age, but _she_ was born a Tyrell.

“Are you all right, Dany?” It was Daario Naharis, and he was laying a protective hand on Dany’s shoulder. After she nodded, he smiled at Margaery. “A pleasure, Miss Tyrell. I’m Daario Naharis.” 

Margaery knew at once that this was not a man to cross. Even his smile was razor sharp, and she had the feeling that he would stop at nothing to secure what, or who, he wanted. Margaery wanted nothing more to get out of his sight that very instant.

“The pleasure is all mine. Do sit down.” Margaery gestured graciously around their little table, but mercifully he declined. 

“Daenerys and I were just on our way out, actually. Dinner reservations. We’re quite old friends, you know, and we would like to see a bit of one another despite the, ah, unfavorable circumstances.” Somehow Margaery did not find the term friend particularly appropriate for their relationship.

Dany blushed prettily and got up, wishing Margaery a good afternoon. As the pair left, Margaery thought she saw Daario slip his arm around Dany’s waist.

Friends, indeed.

****************

Olenna Tyrell entered the lobby to find Margaery looking absently out the door, apparently lost in thought. Olenna made herself comfortable in the chair opposite her granddaughter.

“What’s bothering you, dear?”

Margaery looked up, startled. “Oh, Grandmother. You do move very quietly. Um, it’s Daenerys. She’s more involved with that Daario man than she pretends to be.”

Olenna chuckled. “I thought you were a modern sort of young woman. Surely that doesn’t surprise you.”

“No, but that’s exactly it. Why hide it? Why not get engaged? Daario may not be from the most respectable family, but Dany’s twice-widowed. Everyone would understand. I can’t help but think she’s having doubts about the man. He looks dangerous, like the sort who wouldn’t stop at anything.”

“Even murder?” Olenna enquired casually, waving for some tea.

“Exactly. Though I don’t suppose it’s very likely he was over here the other night without anyone seeing, he could have hired someone out. I hear he’s got quite a bit of money, considering his station.”

Olenna nodded approvingly. “I like that you’re considering all the possibilities. I was concerned you might be a little too friendly with Daenerys. It won’t do you any good to forget how badly Targaryens can burn you, and I’m glad to see you’re being cautious. Although your theory does need some work, I believe.”

Margaery flushed slightly with the rare praise, but pressed on, perhaps hoping for more encouragement. “We haven’t been talking about Brienne. She was the one who brought Sansa here. Could she have been plotting something? It seems unlikely, but everyone has their secrets.” Olenna smiled again at that, knowing how much that knowing smirk irritated her granddaughter.

“Everyone does indeed have their secrets, though few are as well kept as their owners seem to believe.” Margaery blushed at the stern look Olenna shot her. Touché. “As for Brienne, I believe that her secrets are of a different nature entirely, although it does no harm to consider her. She fits the bill for this sort of thing: quiet, more intelligent than people believe, marginalized by society for some reason. Yes, Brienne Tarth is a very interesting case indeed.”

****************

“Jaime, you can’t keep popping out of nowhere like that,” Brienne turned in indignation to Jaime, who had just appeared at her side from behind a particularly large bush. Her face was priceless.

“Sorry,” he said without the least bit of sincerity. “Margaery thinks you might have committed the murder.”

“What?” Brienne looked flabbergasted. Jaime wasn’t certain whether he found her stubborn naiveté annoying or endearing. It was probably somewhere between the two. 

“Just passed her and her dear old gran discussing you in the hotel. Didn’t even notice me coming by, they were so intent on their own little scheming. Thought you ought to know. I doubt it will come to anything, but still…be careful.”

Brienne frowned, trying to digest the news. “I don’t understand how someone like Margaery can be kind to me when she thinks I might be a murderer.”

“The Tyrells don’t place murder too high on the scale of crimes, Brienne,” Jaime said drily. “Besides, they are experts at playing the game, and in the countryside that means inviting everyone over to tea while dissecting their every flaw and secret.”

“I don’t understand people like that.”

Jaime smirked. “That is exceptionally obvious. It’s why I’m here.”

Brienne snorted. “You’re the expert in everything, then.”

“No, but I am an expert at being rich, bored, and questionably moral. As much as I hate to say it, we’re all the same. Keeping up appearances, and stabbing each other in the back.”

Brienne didn’t answer. She appeared to be thinking hard about something. She had just opened her mouth to voice her thoughts when Osmund Kettleblack appeared, wielding a tennis racquet.

“Hello, Inspector. Miss Tarth.” His mouth turned down a bit when he looked at Brienne. “Lovely day, isn’t it? Not that there isn’t lots going on. I’ve just realized how bloody guilty I look. Of course, I’d never strangle that girl. Not a murderer, me, but well, I can’t pretend it didn’t all work out in the end.” He grinned at this, and Jaime couldn’t help but stare. This man was an utter idiot. 

Brienne was scandalized. “But, sir, Sansa’s dead. No good can come of that.”

Osmund leered at her. “Aren’t you sweet? I tend to count money lining my pockets to be all for the good, my lady. I’ve worked hard to get where I am and I have a lifestyle to maintain. Don’t want to be getting in with the wrong types, if you get my drift.” Jaime didn’t even bother to reply to that, and Brienne seemed to be at a loss for words. Osmund continued, undaunted. “Been taking some tennis lessons while I’m here. Got to do something to pass the time. That Daenerys is certainly a nice player, don’t you think?” His eyes traveled downwards in a mime that left no doubt what he was talking about. Brienne made a small sputtering sound, and Jaime was beginning to feel nauseous. “My wife, Arianne, was like that. Always willing to work up a sweat. Good woman, she was. That’s the problem with Doran, though, he just doesn’t let go. Never forgets, that man doesn’t, and to him I’ll always be Arianne’s husband. Not that I’m not grateful to him, but well, there are other fish in the sea, right?”

In the awkward silence that followed, Jaime reflected that if this man hadn’t murdered Sansa, there better be something else he could pin on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Addam jumps to conclusions, Daario gets jealous, and Jaime has a realization.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daario is jealous, Jaime is getting close, and Addam is a shipper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life is about to get crazy(er) when I leave for college in two days, but as of right now, the entire fic has been edited and formatted, so I shouldn't have too much trouble continuing to post.
> 
> Everything is beginning to fall into place...

A meeting with Doctor Pycelle was not Addam’s idea of a perfect start to his morning, but he found he had no choice. Jaime’s short temper and general distaste for the man left Addam to deal with him, and as infuriating as he was, they needed his expertise. 

“The Caswell really is a nice place, you know,” Pycelle was saying. “I wouldn’t have dreamed it when I first caught sight of it, but Mr. Baelish is really most accommodating.”

“Why are you staying at the Caswell?” Addam asked, confused. “You live in the area.”

Pycelle chuckled. “Just paying a visit. Really a nice establishment with excellent service.”

“All right…” Addam said slowly, the wheels turning in his mind. Pycelle was beginning to look uncomfortable.

“Shall we get down to business then, Detective? You were wondering about Doran Martell’s health.”

Addam nodded, taking out his notebook and reserving his other questions for another day.

“I’m sorry to say that Mr. Martell’s health really is failing. It’s not just the gout, although with the severity of his condition, his muscles have been severely damaged throughout his legs. His heart is also weakening. The stress of the deaths of his family, the prolonged enforced inactivity, and age in general are all conspiring to weaken him. I’m afraid that any more stress, extreme exercise, or shock could cause him to have a heart attack.”

“A shock such as the death of a young woman of whom he was very fond, perhaps?”

Pycelle shook his head, but he looked anxious. “It’s possible, but it wouldn’t be the best way to cause an attack. Sudden shocks are more effective, such as a loud noise or disturbance.”

Addam was scribbling furiously on his notepad. “How many people know about the heart condition?”

Pycelle counted off on his gnarled fingers. “Daenerys, Osmund, and Areo Hotah. A very select group.”

“And yourself, of course,” Addam added pointedly.

“Oh—oh yes, of course. Although to think I would ever do such a thing, the shame it would bring, it’s simply unthinkable.”

Addam didn’t point out that as a police officer, thinking of the unthinkable was his job. Instead, he pressed on. “And how many of those people knew what you just told me about the sorts of shocks that cause the highest risk of heart attack?”

“None,” Pycelle said quickly. “Mr. Martell is very private about his medical treatments, and wanted even those he trusted most to have only the bare minimum of information.”

“I see.” Addam stood up. Pycelle’s office was rather uncomfortably stuffy. “Thank you for your help, Doctor Pycelle. You’ve been invaluable in our investigation thus far.”

Thoroughly flattered and strutting like a peacock, Pycelle led Addam out of his office.

****************

“Get in the car. We’re headed back to the Caswell,” Jaime called from inside the police car. Addam was rubbing a hand over his face, looking thoroughly drained.

“Why don’t we just move in there? It would be a sight easier than all this driving.”

Jaime shrugged, turning on the car. “Personally, I’d rather not live in a place where Petyr Baelish has access to the security footage.”

Addam grimaced. “Fair point. What’s the errand this time?”

“Seems that those gardens are quite the little meeting place, and I want to talk to Olenna Tyrell. If she’s going to hang around this case, she might as well make herself useful.” 

Jaime tried not to think about how going to the Caswell would also mean seeing Brienne. He didn’t understand their relationship, didn’t know why he had told her the things he did, or why she had not run away screaming. The situation was tricky and ought to be dealt with carefully, so Jaime, of course, was about to plow right back in. 

When they arrived at the Caswell, Olenna was not immediately in sight. Addam and Jaime strolled through the gardens, trying to look as unhurried as possible. Jaime kept fiddling with his watch.

“Jaime?” said a voice, surprised, and Brienne’s homely head popped out from behind a flower bush. Seeing Addam, she colored. “Detective Marbrand. How, uh, good to see you.” She rose from the hidden bench on which she’d been sitting to shake Addam’s hand. Tripping as she did so, she blushed an even darker shade of red. She looked very nervous.

Jaime sighed. How did the girl expect to remain above suspicion when she acted like this? He had to intervene. “Addam, I’m very glad you found Miss Tarth right away. She has been an invaluable witness to this investigation. She’s been very helpful in confirming timelines and checking the alibis of our hotel guests.”

Addam looked utterly bewildered, and he kept glancing between the two of them in a way that was making Jaime distinctly uncomfortable. Jaime decided to end the encounter as quickly as possible.

“It was good to see you, Miss Tarth. I’m sure we’ll run into one another again,” Jaime smiled, willing Brienne to hightail it as quickly as possible. She got the message.

“Good to see you too, Detectives,” Brienne said quickly, studiously not looking at Jaime as she did. “I’ll be off, then. Good day.” She stumbled again as she hurried away down the path, her long legs doing their utmost not to break into a flat-out run.

As soon as she was out of sight, Addam turned on Jaime. “What by the name of the Seven was that about? Since when is Brienne Tarth on a first name basis with you?”

Jaime sighed. “I have absolutely no idea.” And that, at least, was the truth.

Addam was silent, and Jaime dared to hope that the subject had been dropped. He was not to be so lucky. 

“Are you sleeping with her?” Addam blurted out suddenly.

It took Jaime a moment to find his words. He looked around wildly, but no one was listening. At least, no one who was visible. The bushes could hide quite a lot. “No,” he hissed. “No, by the Seven, Addam, why would you say that? She’s a suspect!” There was nothing, _nothing_ to suggest anything of the sort. Just because Brienne had accidentally called him by his first name—but he wasn’t, they weren’t, they’d only just met…it was _Brienne_. 

Addam laughed quietly, finally having the courtesy to lower his voice. “Why would I say that? The two of you are ridiculous. Clearly you know each a lot better than you’ve been letting on.”

“We’ve only just met,” Jaime protested, but somehow that didn’t feel quite right. The last several days had been a blur, an emotional roller coaster, and life before Sansa’s murder already felt a lifetime away. Addam was persistent.

“You work fast, then. Look, Jaime, I didn’t say I was angry about it. I mean, it’s the height of unprofessional and very definitely illegal, but you’re Jaime Lannister, so who cares, right? Have a bit of fun, I say. I’d prefer it if it didn’t interfere with the case, but we already know I’m the mature one. And those legs, well…” He whistled softly, and Jaime had the bizarre urge to punch his friend. 

“Stop it,” Jaime growled. Addam backed off. 

“Don’t worry, she’s all yours. I hate it when a woman’s taller than me.”

“Addam,” Jaime’s voice had gone dangerously light. “I told you that we’re not sleeping together, and I would appreciate it if you would never speak of Brienne Tarth again, except for in an official capacity.”

Before Addam could say any more, Olenna Tyrell rounded the corner. “Speaking of an unofficial capacity,” Jaime muttered before addressing the head of the Tyrell family. “Olenna,” he said, much more loudly. “We were just looking for you. Care to walk with us?” It was more of a request than an invitation, but Olenna acquiesced graciously nonetheless.

“I do hope that you two are not planning on arresting me,” Olenna said casually as she walked, flanked by Addam and Jaime. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jaime assured her. “Actually, I was thinking of something you might be able to do for this investigation. More than smirk and provide cryptic commentary, that is.”

Olenna didn’t respond, waiting for Jaime to outline his request first. “I want you to talk to some girls for me. The ones that Ygritte Wilde was supposed to take camping up North. Apparently, several of them knew her from previous trips. She was scheduled to meet them, and when she didn’t show up, some of their parents reported her missing. They claim their children don’t know anything, but the parents are more likely the ignorant ones. I want you to talk to the girls, see what you can find out, and report back.” Olenna did not slow her pace, but she was frowning slightly, obviously thinking it through.

“Why not do it yourself?” Olenna asked, and it sounded more like a test than a question. 

“Because I appear to be that ruthless, dangerous man from the newspapers and you appear to be a harmless grandmother. As we both know, appearances are everything.” Addam seemed uncomfortable about that statement, but Olenna was nodding, her face pensive.

“Exactly. You should keep that in mind. And yes, I’ll go talk to the girls. I assume you’ve arranged a meeting place.” In a few minutes, the details of the arrangement had been settled, and the three of them had nearly arrived at the tennis courts. There, Olenna bid them farewell, and went inside to have a spot of lunch, while Addam and Jaime found themselves a flimsy table. Jaime could see that his partner was in critical need of caffeine, and he was very glad when they were served tea. Personally, he didn’t need any extra rush. Olenna had agreed to talk to Ygritte’s girls, and Jaime couldn’t shake the feeling that they were getting close. He was convinced that whoever had done it was in or around the Caswell, and now it was only a matter of time. 

Addam sipped his tea blissfully for a few minutes while Jaime glanced around the garden. It was quieter than it had been the last time he was here, and since Olenna, he had seen none of the other guests. That was good. He needed time to think. The past few days had been a whirlwind, and even with as much energy as Jaime usually possessed, he was beginning to feel the wear. Maybe that was what had prompted him to share so much of his past with Brienne. He shouldn’t have done it. Now he was spending time worrying about long-dead problems when there was a fresh body without a prime suspect. Jaime took another sip of tea. He had never liked the drink all that much, but he needed to focus.

“Addam, have the lemon cakes been bothering you?” Addam was still drinking his tea, making vaguely inappropriate sounds of pleasure as he did so.

“What? Lemon cakes?”

“Several people have told us that lemon cakes were Sansa’s favorite treat. Doran even had them made especially for her.”

Addam still hadn’t caught on. “So?”

“There was a hardly eaten lemon cake in her pocket when she died. Why didn’t she eat it if she likes them so much?”

“Maybe she was full?”

Jaime rolled his eyes. As silly as it was, he had a feeling that this was important. “Addam, she was an adolescent. They’re always hungry.”

Before they could continue the discussion, a slight disturbance arose over by the tennis courts. Apparently, a lesson had just ended. A plump, middle-aged woman that Jaime had never seen before was hurrying away from the courts, Renly Baratheon following more slowly. As soon as the other woman had gone, Daenerys appeared, clearly eager to talk to Renly and followed by a dismal-looking Daario. 

Immediately, Renly and Daenerys engaged in conversation. She took out her tennis racquet, and Renly began to show her some tips on how to hold it. Daario stood back, sensing he was unwanted. Seeing his discomfort, Addam waved the man over. although Jaime imagined that talking to two police officers was not much preferable. Nonetheless, Daario came to sit with them. 

“Hello, Detectives,” he said, not particularly warmly. Daario Naharis was handsome in a non-traditional sort of way, but his eyes were cold. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” The inane comment was blatantly insincere.

“Mr. Naharis, do you dislike the police in general or is your quarrel personal?” Jaime asked, genuinely curious. Daario started, clearly not expecting his attitude to be commented upon.

“Er, general, I suppose. Where I come from, the police are a corrupt lot, like enough to do the crime as solve it.”

Jaime laughed. “No different than here, then.”

Daario’s dangerous smile began to appear at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing personal. I heard you murdered your partner a few years back. Can’t say I hold it against you, though Detective Marbrand may want to watch out.” He laughed. Addam looked scandalized, but Jaime shot him a look and he backed down.

“Fair enough,” Jaime said lightly. “I see your, uh, friend has taken up tennis lessons.”

This sobered the man. “Daenerys is wild for it. She loves to win. Any game she sets her mind to, she has to come out on top, or else. I’ve never understood it myself. The outfits alone…”

“What are you talking about, Daario? They’re ever so fashionable.” Margaery Tyrell had appeared with her grandmother in tow. Olenna sat next to Jaime.

“How was your lunch?” Jaime asked politely.

“Undercooked,” Olenna said, primly. “Your tea is cold again. Why do you keep ordering it if you don’t even enjoy it?” It was a valid question, but Jaime wasn’t about to let Olenna Tyrell investigate his diet as well as his murder. He chose to change the subject.

“Miss Tyrell, do you enjoy tennis?” 

Margaery brightened at that, though she did not fully take her attention away from Daario. “Oh yes, very much so. I was never a dab hand at it myself, but my brother Loras is exceptional. Do you play at all?”

“No,” Jaime answered shortly, though that wasn’t strictly true. He had played very well, until he injured his hand during a case. He had tried again a few times after that, but he couldn’t seem to manage it left-handed. Not that anyone else needed to know that. Margaery didn’t seem to mind.

“Renly’s very talented as well. It’s quite a stroke of luck for the Caswell to have got him, no pun intended, of course. I can’t blame Daenerys for taking advantage of him while she’s here.” The wording was perhaps unfortunate as Daario’s expression grew ever darker. Margaery giggled. She was leaning quite close to him now, and Jaime had to admire her boldness. “He’s absolutely fantastic at what he does, the young ladies of the tennis world absolutely clamor for his services.” Daario stood up abruptly.

“I’m going in. Good-bye,” he said shortly, and stormed off in the direction of the hotel. Margaery was still laughing.

“How unkind of you to say such things, Margaery,” Olenna chided her, though there was not a hint of anger in her voice. “The poor man’s in quite the state now.”

Margaery was still sniggering slightly into her handkerchief. “Oh, he’ll get over it. We all need a good laugh. Though I wouldn’t want to be Dany when he catches up with her.”

“Not a very nice way to treat your friends,” Addam remarked.

Margaery smiled winningly at him, but didn’t reply. Instead, she turned her attention on her grandmother. “You said you wanted to think over lunch, grandmother. Made any headway on who the murderer may be?” Jaime rather thought that Margaery was putting on a show for his and Addam’s benefit. If there had been anything real to discuss, they would have done it out of earshot of the police. Olenna may be cooperating for the moment, but Jaime harbored no illusions on that score. 

Olenna smiled indulgently at her granddaughter. “Oh, Marg, you don’t think I’m still working out the murderer, do you? I figured that out ages ago.”

“A few days isn’t ages, Olenna, but do share,” Jaime said at the same time as Margaery exclaimed:

“Oh, excellent. I was beginning to wonder if you’d lost your touch.” Olenna ignored Jaime completely and focused her attention on Margaery.

“And you, have you figured it out, dear? As you say, someday I might lose my touch. Seven help us when that happens. The police will be in shambles.”

Jaime couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Although I would like to defend my profession, I rather think you’re right.”

Olenna nodded. “That makes you wiser than most of them. And no, before you ask, I’m not going to tell you who the murderer is. Not enough evidence for one. Besides, I think you know who it is, Lannister. You’re not quite as thick as the rest of them, as loath as I am to admit it. Of course, there are other obstacles.”

Jaime closed his eyes, trying to block out Olenna’s smug face. She may like to flit around and make snap judgments, but real police work was a lot more laborious. Jaime had confidence that he would get there, some of the pieces already beginning to fall into place, but he needed more time to bring it all together. 

“You look pathetic when you do that, Lannister. Open your eyes. I’m going to give you a hint.” Jaime very intentionally took his time with opening his eyes. He had his pride, after all. “Marbrand, are you listening as well? I keep forgetting you’re here. It must be hard to be so unimportant.”

Addam shifted uncomfortably next to Jaime, but he didn’t dare protest. Most of the time, Olenna was a brilliant woman who was mostly pleasant and just slightly acidic. But there were moments where she became something else entirely, and all of them knew not to cross her in those moods. The few who ever had tried had paid dearly for their insolence.

“As you, Lannister, may have previously surmised, it’s all about keeping up appearances. Having grown up in elite circles, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Marbrand, you’re most likely lost, but no matter. The thing is with this case, everyone believes the act. This whole little town has no clue they’re in a play and they believe in the masks. That’s my advice to you, for what it’s worth: doubt the mask and the game unravels.”

Jaime frowned at her. “If you won’t tell me what your guess is, why help us at all?”

Olenna lowered her voice, her craggy face growing dark. “There’s more at stake here than justice. My son, Mace. If no suspect is found, he will shoulder the blame. A fool he may be, but he is no murderer. If the town suspects him, his life will be made a living hell and the Tyrell name will fall into disgrace. For our health and our name, solve the murder. I know that you harbor no love for the Tyrells, but you believe in justice, even after everything. Do it for that, if you can’t do it for us, but do it. That’s all I ask.”

“Is that ever all you ask?” Jaime asked lightly, but he was thinking hard. Olenna Tyrell was in a quandary. She had an idea of who the murderer was, but she wasn’t official police and she didn’t have the evidence to back up her claim. For now, she was at Jaime’s mercy. For one brief moment, he took pleasure in that power swing, but then he remembered Sansa’s disfigured face, and Ygritte, who didn’t even have a face anymore. They deserved justice, and if that meant helping a Tyrell, then he would just have to swallow it. He would not be his father, seeking the upper hand at any cost. “Never mind. I’ll do it.” Somewhere in his mind alarm bells chimed. Oaths were dangerous, but so was the world, and this one had to be made. “Now if you’ll excuse Addam and I, we have work to do.”

Once they were well away from the table, Addam let out a little huff. “Olenna just completely dismisses me.”

Jaime smirked at his friend. “Well, I’m around. She has no attention to spare.”

“Only because talking with you is like taking care of a three-year-old,” Addam groused, but he was smiling. “So, I guess Olenna’s really on our side this time.”

“Olenna Tyrell is always her own side. I think it’s us who’ve crossed over. And I’ve been thinking, we need to do more looking into Robert Baratheon. He could possibly be connected to Ygritte. Have someone see whether she ever did stunts on any of his films.”

Addam looked dubious. “As far as I know, Ygritte’s career hadn’t really taken off yet. I doubt she would be working on anything as high profile as a Baratheon film.”

“Take a look anyway. We’re just about out of evidence. It’s time to go back over everything we already know.” There was something else about Robert that bothered Jaime. But he just couldn’t think…

“We’ll probably have to re-interview the hotel staff, then. The barkeep, the maids, the dancers, any of them—”

“The picture!” Jaime nearly shouted, the memory coming back to him all at once. How could he have forgotten? “When I went to search the rooms, I found a picture of Robert from many years ago. It didn’t make any sense, but then—I’ll be back.” And Jaime was off like a shot, racing up the steps of the Caswell.

Addam’s bemused voice followed him. “What are you talking about? Where did you find this picture?”

“Brienne’s bedroom!” Jaime called over his shoulder, taking some pleasure in imagining Addam’s face, but he didn’t linger for long. He needed to talk to Brienne.

****************

Addam Marbrand did not have time to try to keep up with his partner’s antics. If there was something going on between Jaime and that dancer, then that was his business. It was odd, though. Addam had never known Jaime to get involved with a woman on a case. Or a woman at all, for that matter. He had begun to wonder…but that was nothing now. They needed to solve this case. And even if Olenna Tyrell thought little of him, he would still do his share of the work.

Right now, that meant a conversation with Areo Hotah.

Doran Martell’s burly Norvoshi valet had been with the family for years, and there was no better man for Addam to consult about the habits and characters of the family.

Addam knocked on the door to the Martell suite. It was only moments before the very man he had come to see ushered him inside. Despite the fact that the man looked more like a sailor than a valet, he was very efficient at his job.

“I wasn’t aware you were calling. Mr. Martell is taking his afternoon rest. I’m afraid it would be unwise to disturb him, Detective.” Areo Hotah’s voice was slow and deep with a calming quality that belied the man’s obvious physical prowess. 

“Actually, it was you I was looking for, sir. I’d like a moment for an interview, if you can step away.” Areo looked uncomfortable. “You said that Mr. Martell is resting. I’m certain he won’t miss you. This shouldn’t take long.” 

Areo hesitated for a second longer before nodding. “Be quick about it. Times being what they are I don’t like to leave Mr. Martell alone for too long.”

“Of course,” Addam agreed, leading the valet to a secluded section of hallway. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Areo’s fear was founded on anything more than paranoia. Could the murderer be after Doran as well? Since they had learned about his heart condition, it seemed more and more likely.

“Now, Mr. Hotah. I’d like you to give me as much information as you can about the Martells. I want you to understand that this is confidential, and if the information you give is not relevant to the case, it will not be disclosed either to the police or to your employers. The problem is that people are far too worried about how they seem to others, even the police. Thus, they conceal vital information because of pride or embarrassment or some trivial little thing. Frankly, I don’t care one whit about any of those minor scandals. I’m no village spinster, and you can trust me to be discreet. Now, what can you tell me about the Martells?”

Areo Hotah was staring at Addam, sizing him up. It was slightly intimidating, being stared down by such a powerful man, but regardless of what Olenna Tyrell thought, he could hold his ground. After a long moment, Areo seemed to decide that it would be safer for him to speak than to stay silent. His speech was slow, but direct.

“Doran Martell is a great man, but he is very alone. The death of his family was very hard on him, and he has clung to what he has left. He does so admirably, but he is not without weakness. I…I believe Sansa Stark was one such weakness for him. She was a good girl, but one trying to play a game for which she was not yet ready. She offered him the kind of affection and empathy that he could not find elsewhere. His children-in-law…Daenerys is a good woman, but she is proud and ambitious. She cannot give him the sense of family he desires. And Osmund…none of us ever understood why Arianne married him. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman who could have made herself a much better match.”

“Do you have any guesses as to why she did?” Addam asked, unsure whether it would be relevant to the case, but curious nonetheless.

Areo closed his eyes for a second. Clearly, divulging such things about his well-loved employers was taxing on him. Thankfully for Addam, he loved them enough to want the truth to come out. “Arianne was a very ambitious woman. I believe she saw something in Osmund that she believed she could use. He is not, I’m afraid, the most intelligent of men, but he is extraordinarily well-placed for someone of such limited capacity. He works in the King’s Landing government and he has brothers surprisingly high up in Lannister Corporations. Despite his gambling and generally deplorable nature, he is a valuable ally to have. Arianne Martell knew how to best collect allies, Detective.”

“Interesting. Thank you.” Addam doubted it bore relevance to the case at hand, but it was good to know. It certainly didn’t improve his opinion of Kettleblack. He would need to remember to ask Jaime whether he had ever heard of the brothers. He hadn’t had contact with the company in years, but that didn’t mean he was completely out of the loop. First, though, he had to wrap up this conversation. “Is there anything else you think I should know?” 

“There is one thing, Detective. One day, a couple of weeks ago, Mr. Martell picked up a calling card that had fallen out of Sansa’s bag. I didn’t get a proper look at it, but there was a picture of a rather handsome man on it. Mr. Martell asked her where she’d gotten it, and Sansa got very flustered. Said that one of the men she danced with must have slipped it into her bag, but I could tell that Mr. Martell didn’t believe her. I had nearly forgotten about it until now.”  
  Addam frowned pensively. “There isn’t a chance you could find that card, is there?”

Areo Hotah shook his gravely. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I have no idea what happened to it. I never even got a proper look myself, and Sansa probably threw it away after Mr. Martell asked her about it.”

Addam shook Areo’s hand. He had been very helpful. “I’ll let you get back to your employer now. I’m sure your information will help us solve this case. Good day.”

****************

Jaime’s mind was whirling as he knocked on the door to Brienne’s room. He couldn’t get that picture out of his head. There was something not right about it, and Brienne was the only person who could tell him what it was. If his conversations with Brienne hadn’t been so impossibly distracting…

She opened the door. 

Brienne was dressed casually in a blue housedress that somehow managed to be infinitely more flattering than her showy dancing dresses, even though her legs were less visible. Her eyes, almost exactly the same shade as her dress, widened when she saw Jaime.

He grinned at her expression, still breathing hard. “Surprise. We need to talk.”

Brienne stepped back to let him in, her face falling immediately into wariness. Given the sorts of things they had been talking about recently, Jaime couldn’t blame her. Still, he was burning with the need for answers. “Not like that. Can I see that picture of Robert on your desk?”

Brienne looked utterly blank. “What?” she asked, her brows furrowing. “I don’t understand. What picture?”

Jaime practically ran over to Brienne’s little desk, searching frantically. Was it possible that he had imagined seeing it? His hands closed on the slim paper. “This picture” he said, triumphantly, holding it up for Brienne’s inspection.

She blushed scarlet. “That’s not Robert,” she said in a nearly unintelligible voice. 

Jaime frowned, turning the picture over.

_Robert Baratheon – May, 1919_

The rushed, feminine writing on the back had not changed. Jaime looked at Brienne, trying to gauge her reaction. She was staring at the writing, her mouth falling open. “Th–that’s not right. I didn’t write that.”

“Then who did?” Jaime asked sharply, becoming more confused by the moment. 

Brienne’s face was still scarlet, and she looked like she desperately wanted to grab the picture from Jaime, but she restrained herself. “Whoever it was, they made a mistake. That’s not a picture of Robert. It’s…” Brienne took a deep breath to steady herself. “It’s Renly. I got it ages ago. I don’t know why I kept it so long. Childish, I know.” She looked desperately ashamed of herself, but Jaime couldn’t help feeling that it was actually a little endearing. The questions that this posed, however, were anything but.

“Are you telling me that someone wrote this on your picture recently?”

Brienne looked anxious and confused, but the blush was slowly fading from her cheeks. “You’re not going to tease me about having a picture of Renly in prep school?” 

Jaime grinned a little. “Do you want me to? There are about a million things I could say…but correct me if I’m wrong, the issue of people tampering with your possessions is a little more pressing.”

“You actually have priorities.” Brienne was mocking him, but Jaime could still feel the sting of truth. 

“Don’t be fooled that easily. When was the last time you looked at the back of this picture?”

Brienne shook her head. “I don’t know. Probably the last time I organized the desk. Maybe a month ago, then.”

Jaime ran one hand through his hair, thinking hard. “This doesn’t make any sense at all. Why pretend the picture was of Robert? If someone was in your room, why not take anything? It has to be some sort of setup…I need to get back to the station. Try to think of who might have had opportunity to tamper with your things in the last month, and give me a ring if you think of anyone.”

“Of course, thank you,” Brienne said, and she meant it.

Jaime Lannister was on the way back to the station with Addam in the passenger’s seat before he realized that he had gone an entire conversation without arguing with Brienne.

It hadn’t been so bad, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Olenna is actually helpful, Jaime figures it out, and someone is about to be arrested.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Olenna pretends to be harmless, Brienne has some information, and an arrest is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in Ireland! And it took me five days to get consistent internet...but here it is! The next two chapters are sort of short, set-up chapters, so I'll try to post quickly.

Addam Marbrand’s office was practically bursting with young girls. Meg Bulwer, Val Varner, Leonette Dunn, and Elinor Hewett sat on cheap chairs surrounding his desk, their terrified eyes following his every move. From what Addam could tell, they were all girls of a certain sort. Young and reasonably pretty, with affluent but unremarkable last names and a taste for a safe sort of adventure. Their parents had the money to hire someone like Ygritte to take them off their hands for a few weeks, but not the prestige to have them engaging in more refined activities. Addam knew all this because he had been one of them. Unlike Jaime Lannister, Addam had chosen the police because it was as high as he was likely to rise in this world. 

Because of that, he felt some empathy towards these scared little girls. They had never asked for their little trips to turn into a murder investigation. Through his interview, Addam was also gathering that Ygritte had been well loved by her pupils. Though only a few years older than her students, the way the girls spoke about her made it clear that they admired her. They agreed that she had been a little brash and that she was obviously uncultured, but from the way they said it, Addam knew that they liked that as well. 

For the first time, Ygritte’s death was making Addam sad for her as a person, not just as a victim. He wished that Jaime had been there to hear the girls’ stories. Unfortunately, Jaime had gotten a call about ten minutes into the interviews and had gone dashing off again. Addam assumed he would hear what it was about sooner or later, but for now, he had to take down these statements.

And keep an eye on Olenna Tyrell. 

The elderly lady was seated in a corner of the office, on the very last chair that Addam had been able to scrounge up. With her face in shadow, she looked somewhat sinister, but suitably hidden. He doubted that the nervous young girls had even noticed her presence. 

Addam shuffled the papers on his desk. “Thank you for your time, girls. We’ll be contacting you if we have any more questions.” He shook their sweaty hands before the girls exited, all in a row. 

The moment they were out the door, Addam turned to Olenna.

“Well? What do you think?”

Olenna pulled her chair into the light, a thoughtful look on her face. “I’d like to see Elinor Hewett again.” Addam nodded, very glad that he and Jaime had decided to bring her in. The girls all looked the same to him, but he knew Olenna had a different perspective. Of course he would like to think he could figure it out himself, but at this point, they had to find the murderer, pride be damned. 

A moment later, Olenna Tyrell’s butler, who had been guarding the door during the interviews, returned with Elinor Hewett in tow. Elinor was the oldest of the girls they had been interviewing, probably fifteen. Her unremarkable brown hair was pulled into a slightly messy bun, and she looked pale. She calmed a bit, however, when she saw that it was Olenna Tyrell who was waiting for her instead of Addam.

Appearances really were everything. 

Olenna smiled her most grandmotherly smile and urged the girl to sit down. Elinor obeyed, fear being replaced with mild confusion. 

“Now, dear, “ Olenna began, and Addam could almost believe that she was a harmless old woman. “I know you’re afraid and I understand completely. The police can seem very threatening, but in this case, I can assure you that they’re here to help. I think there’s something you haven’t told us. Would you like to help us here?”

Elinor stared at her, her lip trembling slightly. Then, she seemed to find some sort of inner strength, and she straightened. “What makes you think I have anything to hide?” She asked boldly.

Olenna’s smile grew. “I can see why Ygritte liked you. You’ve got some fire. Don’t you want her murderer to answer for it? She was burned alive, Elinor.”

Elinor blanched, all the fight draining out her as quickly as it had come. Her lip was trembling again. Immediately, Olenna softened. 

“Ygritte liked you best, didn't she, Elinor? Had you seen her already this summer, before the trip?”

Shakily, Eleanor nodded.

“Where? What did you two talk about?”

“S-she came to Oakenshield, where I live. We went out for tea. My parents were out. They didn’t like Ygritte very much. Said she was crass. But she wasn’t, not really. She was wonderful. For a while, we talked about going up North. I was ever so excited to go on the trip again. She asked about school and everything. It was very nice. Then, she told me her news. She said a woman had approached her about a stunt role in a film, a genuine actress.” Elinor’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “She asked me what I thought about it. I told her she should meet the man in charge before she made a decision. Do you—what if my advice got her killed?” Tears were slowly tracking their way down the girl’s cheeks. Addam wanted to comfort her, but he had a sinking feeling she might be right. The whole thing sounded like a scam designed to draw in naive young women. Ygritte might have been more savvy than most, but navigating the northern wilderness was worlds away from the snake’s nest of the south. 

Olenna put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, now speaking almost too softly for Addam to hear. “Did Ygritte tell you the name of the woman she met? Or perhaps the agency?”

Elinor shook her head, trying to pull herself together. “I don’t remember. But she said the woman was the most beautiful blonde she’d ever seen. A true movie star. Ygritte didn’t want any of that. She just wanted to do the stunts, but still…” Elinor hiccuped herself into silence, leaning into Olenna’s chest. Over her shoulder, Olenna was smiling slightly as she comforted the girl.

She had gotten what she wanted.

****************

“Are you certain these are the only people who have been in your room? No strange men?” Jaime reached for the list that Brienne was holding out for him. He had asked her to supply him with the names of everyone who had access to her room within the last month. Only a few hours later, she had called him to ask that he meet her at the hotel. Now, they were back in her sparse apartment, and she was holding a slip of paper.

Brienne blushed. “Just you.” Then her eyes darkened, and she straightened up.

“You can look at the names, but there’s something I haven’t been telling you.”

Ten minutes later, Jaime left the apartment, pale and trying to calm his shaking hands.

****************

Olenna Tyrell whistled to herself as she strolled up the drive to the Baratheon residence. This whole investigation was going rather splendidly, if she did say so herself. She knocked on the door of the modest cottage, holding out her donation form as a sort of shield.

Not that she was the one who needed protecting.

Cersei Baratheon opened the door, and Olenna reflected that it was rather early in the day to be holding a full wine glass. Cersei’s lips matched the color of her drink and currently were pursed in extreme annoyance. “Olenna. To what do I owe the pleasure?” she practically spat.

Olenna smiled her sweetest smile. “Mrs. Baratheon. I hope you’re not busy. I would be simply delighted to come share a cup of tea with you. You see, I’ve been collecting for the orphanage over in Bitterbridge. It’s awfully thirsty work, but when I think of the children…” Olenna bullied her way past Cersei and invited herself into the sitting room. The chairs were more ornate than the exterior of the home would suggest, but the floor was bare. Olenna chose to sit in the seat that Cersei would most likely want to occupy and waited as her host hurried after her, looking livid.

“Where’s your little protegé, then? Doesn’t she want to help the poor, wee orphans?” Cersei mocked. Her cheeks were very red, and it wasn’t merely from the wine.

Olenna smiled, watching as her prey’s pretty green eyes bulged in her skull. “Lovely home, Mrs. Baratheon. You must be quite the accomplished housewife. Although, there does seem to be something missing. A hearthrug, perhaps?” Olenna asked innocently, watching as Cersei’s face made the alarming transition from blood red to white.

“I sent our rug to the cleaners. It had been getting soot on it from the fire,” Cersei said, rather more loudly than was necessary. “If it were up to me, I’d do away with the thing altogether, but Robert insists. He—”

“He’s going to arrested for murder, Cersei.” Olenna cut her off neatly, watching her already bloodless face lose a little more color. She brought a hand to her mouth, swaying slightly.

“Does my broth—does Jaime think he’s guilty? I swear, we were at the house, having a party, and then we all went out for a drive. He was with me the whole time.”

Olenna leaned back in her chair, enjoying this immensely. “Do you really think your brother needs another reason to arrest Robert Baratheon?” Cersei’s knuckles whitened from her grip on the sides of her chair. It was all far too easy. Hardly any sport at all. 

“But of course, you—”

The door burst open. 

Robert Baratheon stared at Olenna Tyrell, the cask of beer in his hand slipping until he set it down clumsily. “What in the seven hells are you doing here, woman?” he thundered.

Immediately, Cersei leapt up and crossed the room the him. “Oh, Robert, the most terrible things have been happening! You mustn’t mind Mrs. Tyrell. She only came to warn me. They’re going to arrest you, Robert. Oh, my dear.” And with that, Cersei threw her arms around her husband, crying into his chest. Robert looked surprised and a bit awkward. He tried petting her hair, and though Olenna could tell it was pulling, Cersei did not react.

“Mr. Baratheon, Sansa Stark was found dead on your hearthrug. Due to the intoxicated nature of the witnesses, no one can reliably verify your location at the time of the murder. And as no other suspects have come forward, I’m afraid you have very little time left as a free man.”

Robert’s face went slack, and he pulled away from his wife. “But—” 

Unfortunately, that seemed to be the extent of Robert Baratheon’s argument for his innocence. Olenna picked up her orphanage papers and left the house.

She was very close now. There was only one person left.

The receptionist at the Caswell Luxury Suites looked harried, but Olenna needed her help.

“I need you to tell me the room number of Brienne Tarth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Olenna schemes, Jaime surprises her and a trap is sprung.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trap is sprung...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter is here! It's a short, but the last one makes up for it in length. Enjoy!

Margaery Tyrell sat in the Goldengrove drawing room, tapping anxiously on the table. She had just gotten off the phone with her father down in Highgarden, and things were not looking good. Apparently he had been denied a place on the local environmental council and one of the maids had resigned. It seemed everyone suspected him. That was absurd, of course. People were so silly sometimes, thinking that the Tyrells would be mixed up in something as pedestrian as this murder.

Still, it was bothersome. And where had her grandmother hopped off to? Last Margaery knew, Olenna had been working with the police in an official capacity. It was shameful, even if she had her reasons. She tapped her slender fingers quickly on the desk. Maybe she ought to phone Loras and see what he had to say. 

The front door opened.

Margaery jumped to her feet, irrational fear thrilling through her body for a moment. She relaxed when she saw who it was. Olenna, of course.

“Grandmother, I just got off the phone with Father. Things aren’t going well in Highgarden. We need to get this wrapped up quickly.”

Olenna nodded business-like. Clearly, she was in the midst of some plan or other. “They’re going to arrest Robert Baratheon, dear.”

Margaery couldn’t help the smile that broke across her face. “Really? Excellent. One less idiot to deal with.”

Olenna frowned slightly. “The problem is that he only moved the body. The girl was already dead when he found her, and like the numbskull that he is, he decided to move the body to our house. Clumsy attempt at a frame, and he’s going to pay for it unless we act quickly.”

“And why don’t we want to take him down, Grandmother?”

Now Olenna was smiling. “Bigger fish to fry, my dear. Robert’s reign will end soon enough on it’s own, but this is our chance to take down some more players. Now, sorry to run off on you like this, but there’s more to be done if we’re going to catch the real killer. Take care that the media don’t swarm the house. I’ll be back in a bit.” With that, Olenna pecked her granddaughter on the cheek and hurried back out of the house, leaving Margaery marveling at the force of nature that was Olenna Tyrell.

****************

Despite the fact that it was barely five o’clock, the police station was nearly deserted. Olenna Tyrell did not hesitate at the receptionist’s desk, proceeding straight into Jaime Lannister’s office.

He sat at his desk, his handsome face looking pale and drawn. His fingers, covered with ink, were dissecting a pen on his desk. He showed no surprise at her entrance.

“Where’s Detective Marbrand?” Olenna asked. Jaime shook his head.

“Out.”

“When are you going to arrest Robert Baratheon?”

Jaime’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I’m not going to. We both know who did it, and it wasn’t Robert.”

Olenna hadn’t expected that. She had known Jaime Lannister for years, but she never would have pegged him for making the choice he was about to make. “Well, then, I have a proposition for you.”

Jaime listened carefully, but his hands were still playing with the pen. When she finished, he said, “That’s definitely illegal.”

Olenna huffed quietly, her eyes piercing him. “Have you changed that much, Jaime Lannister?”

He looked down at his ink-stained hands for a moment. “Maybe. But you’re right. It’s the only way. Have you talked to Doran yet?”

“He’s my next stop. Everyone else is already on board. Brienne Tarth really is a remarkable young woman.” And with that, Olenna swept out of the office.

****************

“Would you bring me that blanket, Areo? It’s getting rather cold in here. I may have to talk to the front desk about that. Summer nights can have a chill.” Areo Hotah fetched a blanket for Doran Martell, regarding him with some concern.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“Yes, fine. Pain’s not as bad as usual. And I told Daenerys and Osmund, just like Olenna wanted.” He grimaced. “That woman does have a way of getting what she wants. I can’t believe I convinced them that I would be giving my fortune entirely to the Water Gardens. As if I would dump all my assets into one avenue…I never thought I’d say this, but I hope Olenna Tyrell knows what she’s doing.”

Areo paused momentarily in his adjustment of the blanket around his employer’s shoulders. “So, do I, sir. So do I.”

****************

“I wasn’t certain you’d come,” Brienne said, standing in a discrete corner of the hotel lobby. She was still wearing her blue dress, and the color was making her eyes even more piercing than usual.

“I thought you’d learned not to underestimate me,” Jaime said quietly. Of course, she was right—he almost hadn’t been able to bring himself here, but he had to see this through to the bitter end, whatever it took. Brienne’s hand found his, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. She moved to take it away, but he held on tightly.

“It’s almost time.”

****************

Midnight had come and gone hours ago. The Caswell Luxury Hotel was utterly silent, lit only by the full moon that filtered gently through drawn curtains. In the most luxurious room of the hotel, Doran Martell snored softly, for once unbothered either by pain or the well-meaning Areo Hotah. Light from the moon played across his sleeping face, the lines of hurt and sadness smoothed into the picture of rest.

The curtains fluttered.

A shadow was in the room. It moved quietly, ever so quietly, from the window over to the bed. The glint of a hypodermic needle caught the moonlight. The shadow raised the needle in a slightly shaking hand, then paused. For an instant, everything was perfectly still. 

Then the moment was broken. Two more people stepped out of the shadows, grabbing the killer’s arms. One put a hand over their mouth, and the other spoke in a soft, low voice.

“Game’s over. Give me the needle.” Something clinked softly to the floor. The light by the bedside table flickered on and a bleary-eyed Doran Martell looked straight into the eyes of the person who had murdered Sansa Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: spoilers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is revealed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! We have come to the end of the case. Hope you enjoyed the ride!

The lobby of the Caswell Luxury Hotel was a serene place to have a spot of breakfast. After the activity of the night before, Olenna Tyrell was quite glad to sit in peace, enjoying a hot cup of tea. 

Jaime Lannister sat down opposite her. There were shadows under his eyes, but he looked surprisingly relaxed. The sun glinted off his golden hair, just beginning to grey. He smiled widely at Olenna, showing all of his teeth.

“So, then. How did you figure out who it was? Since I followed entirely official and legal channels, of course.” 

Olenna huffed in mock disapproval. The man was incorrigible. “Oh, it’s all very simple, really. You see, we all think we’re so different, so above everyone else with our fancy crests and our mottos and our family legacies, but we’re the same. Tyrells and Lannisters, Starks and Baratheons—we’re all just keeping up appearances, holding onto a time that perhaps never even existed.”

Jaime was looking at her skeptically. “You believe the Tyrells are like everyone else, then?”

Olenna laughed delicately. “In most ways, though it pains me to admit it, yes. Of course, the fact that we do admit it sets us apart all by itself, but that’s a different matter altogether. The point is that once you strip away the armor of a good name and a lot of money, it’s quite obvious who killed Sansa Stark and Ygritte Wilde. All you have to look for is who has been clinging the hardest.

“My first notion was obviously to look into Daenerys and Osmund. As you well know, they had the strongest motive. However, they also both had strong alibis, although that became less important as more information was introduced. I believe that Daenerys Martell is capable of murder, especially if it involves protecting her son, but I realized early on that her motive was not as strong as it initially seemed. Certainly, the money would be nice and her means were dwindling, but she is a beautiful, intelligent young woman. Daario Naharis, who, I might add, is well-off for someone of humble birth, already waits on her hand and foot. If she did not want him, another would soon take his place. No, the money would resolve itself with a good match, and why risk the Targaryen legacy with another scandal, even though she no longer carries the name?”

She watched for Jaime’s reaction to using that particular argument in her reasoning, but his face was unusually still. Olenna had been told numerous times that Jaime was the loose cannon of the Lannister family, but she doubted that easy assessment. He watched her, waiting for her to continue. Olenna obliged. It was a glorious thing, to have all the answers. “Then, Osmund. He was a different case altogether, a shady, unreliable character whom the Martells had never wished to join their ranks permanently. His motive was also money, but the consequences for not achieving it were more drastic. The Iron Bank of Braavos would not bend. Unfortunately for Osmund, he lacks the wits to pull off a double murder by himself.

“Areo Hotah is the only other person in the family who could have done it, but his loyalty to Doran and all that the Martells hold dear was obvious from the start. Besides, he had nothing to gain. I, then, had to move in a wider circle. Sansa had many acquaintances, but few close friends. I considered Podrick Payne briefly, but dismissed him as soon as his car was found to contain Ygritte Wilde. If Pod had done it, it would have been a crime of passion, not a plan to win the inheritance. In that context, a double murder made no sense whatsoever, and in his own car…Podrick Payne is painfully shy, but not stupid. Petyr Baelish was also a possibility, as Sansa’s boss.”

Jaime grit his teeth slightly and Olenna nodded. “A despicable character, no doubt, but a man who wanted Sansa Stark very much alive. To kill her would mean losing an asset to his business as well as someone to whom he was clearly personally attached. It could have been a crime of passion, obviously, but Petyr Baelish, when it comes down to it, struck me as rather cold-blooded. And then, Brienne.”

Jaime stiffened nearly imperceptibly, and Olenna shot him a sharp look. “You were quicker on that one, I’ll admit it. You knew from the start that she was not the murderer, though your methods… Anyway, I considered Brienne for quite a long time. She had many reasons to envy Sansa Stark, and though killing Ygritte as well struck me as strange, ugly girls are rarely as stupid as people believe. Brienne has spent her whole life sticking out so much that she actually blends in. No one believes her capable of being anything but the freak.”

A fork clattered to the floor, but Olenna ignored it. “Between her physical strength and a little bit of careful planning, I had no doubt she could have carried out both murders. However, the problem was still Ygritte. Sansa Stark was in among the vultures and any number of people could have picked her off, but Ygritte moved in different circles and by all accounts lived a very different life. Brienne had no connection to Ygritte, and, if we look at our theme, Brienne really had no appearances to keep up either.”

Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but Olenna hushed him. “Robert Baratheon. Ygritte had been wanting to work on films. Sansa had wanted to go to his parties. There was a connection between the girls at last. But what motive did Robert have? No money, no passion, no brains. Why kill the girls? And then you found the picture, and it all made sense once more. It was all a frame. The body was initially found in Robert’s home, and the picture in Brienne’s room connected her as well as Sansa to the murder. But it was risky, very risky. Brienne knew the picture was of Renly, not Robert. Whoever killed Sansa and Ygritte was taking a huge gamble. That was when I realized that the plan was much more complicated than it seemed. To risk that much, this could not be a crime of passion or even a cover-up. This was a carefully planned coup to remove all the necessary parties. And the person who carried it out had the most to lose.”

Jaime nodded, his face going grim in the midmorning light.

“I assume you noticed the lemon cake as well?” Olenna asked. Jaime nodded. “Naturally. Some people would say that it’s insane that that bothered me most about the murder scene, but it’s the truth. An uneaten lemon cake on the person of a girl who not only loved them, but did not have the means to go around wasting precious treats. That, and the teeth, of course. The teeth of the body in the library stuck out, clearly not proper dental care. Now I know how prejudiced us Southerners can be towards those who hail from the North, but Sansa’s family was quite rich enough to have afforded dental care. It bothered me for a while, but the answer is really so obvious, isn’t it? Sansa Stark never was in the Tyrell library.

“That little fact made Brienne seem awfully guilty, at first. She identified the body. How do you misidentify the body of someone you’ve worked with for over a year? But the picture cleared that right up as well. The killer had gone to great pains to make Brienne misidentify the body. The face was unrecognizable, the clothes clearly Sansa’s, even the smell of lemon cake in the air would have made Brienne believe it was Sansa. Besides, who expects two young, red-haired women to be murdered in quick succession? No one. It was brilliant, but too complicated. Far too complicated. Only one little thing had to go amiss, and everything unraveled. Sansa Stark lost a jewel out of her hairnet that night, one that young Rhaego later found. The perfect duplicate made for Ygritte became not so perfect.

“After that, it was obvious. The murderer was someone who had a strong desire to maintain a reputation, the willingness to take a huge gamble, and the arrogance to believe that they could pull off a plan of this complexity without a hitch.”

“Cersei,” Jaime whispered, and though he had known for at least a day, Olenna could see that the words still pained him.

“Yes. My condolences, by the way. I settled on her soon enough, but I couldn’t quite tap into the motive. What money or power could she hope to gain? Then it hit me. She wasn’t working alone. Cersei Baratheon would never want to do the grunt work of this operation. She had an accomplice.”

“Osmund Kettleblack,” Jaime said with grim satisfaction.

“How far your sister has fallen. A good match though, really. Both opportunistic, both less capable than they think. They must have met months ago, at the hotel. Initially, Osmund probably just wanted the sex, but Cersei saw an opportunity. They both needed something: Osmund needed an inheritance, and Cersei needed her husband imprisoned for murder. All about appearances, once again. To everyone outside their relationship, Cersei and Robert were a happy, if wild, couple. But the truth was that Cersei hated her husband. I saw it as soon as I met them. And yet, when I said that Robert would be accused, she ran to his side. A mask to show the world and hide the truth.

“It was likely Osmund who suggested Brienne as the scapegoat. Maybe they wanted to pretend that Robert and Brienne were having an affair. Though with her face, it’s more likely that they wanted us to believe that Brienne was infatuated with Robert, enough to cover a murder. Cersei staked Brienne out, got to know her, and once in her apartment, wrote Robert’s name on the back of Renly’s photograph. The two men looked very much alike at one point and had the police merely stumbled upon the picture without an explanation, they could easily have believed that it was Robert. This all occurred several weeks before the murder, of course. Cersei showed an uncharacteristic amount of patience over the matter. 

“Finally, the night of the murder came. I imagine it was Cersei who decided to use Ygritte as a decoy to give them both an alibi at the time of Sansa’s death. It was likely an accident that they met, and Cersei gave Ygritte the card to Robert’s company. Ever the opportunist, she set up a fake meeting for Ygritte at one of the Baratheon offices in Highgarden, not knowing that Ygritte was meeting girls who would note her absence later that day. She talked about a stunt job with her, all the while feeding her drugged lemon cake and maybe a drink. When she fell asleep, Cersei dressed Ygritte in clothes that she had had made in replica of Sansa’s outfits, complete with a fake hair net and Sansa’s makeup, which Osmund had inexpertly stolen. Ridiculous amounts of money get you far in murder. She even stuck a lemon cake in her pocket for good measure, probably having seen Sansa eating them at the hotel. This early in the evening, Osmund’s whereabouts were not examined. As it turns out, he had told Daenerys he was going for a drive. He was. To the Baratheon offices to strangle the drugged Ygritte and drive with Cersei back to her home. She went inside to welcome guests to their party, making sure to ply everyone with alcohol and get them outside. When that was done, she moved Ygritte’s body from the car to her own hearth rug while Osmund returned to the hotel in time for dinner.

“There, at the hotel, was the real, still living and dancing Sansa Stark. Osmund played his usual role in the evening, waiting for his opportunity, and subtly drugging Sansa’s water after her first dance. Meanwhile, Cersei flirted with other men until Robert became angry with her, and left her alone, free to take the car up to the Caswell and wait for Osmund who was carefully watching Sansa. When the girl began to realize that her head was fogged, she stepped outside for a moment to clear it. Osmund followed her and knocked her out before loading her into a car and returning to the game of bridge without missing a turn. Cersei then drove an unconscious, but living Sansa to the quarry in the first unlocked car she found, Podrick Payne’s. Then, she burned Sansa alive.”

Jaime had closed his eyes, and his breathing was harsh. Olenna knew he was thinking about Aerys. Perhaps that was why he had turned his own sister in. Or maybe not. That was one thing she feared she would never be certain of. Olenna pressed on with her story.

“By midnight, the window of the murder had passed and Osmund was free to pick Cersei up and drop her off at the party, where she could stumble around and feign ignorance as to the night’s events. They both had alibis, and neither had a clear motive. Elegant, but again, too many variables. It was the little things that caught them out: the hairnet, the picture, Sansa’s makeup having obviously been searched by a man, Ygritte’s chance mentioning of her upcoming meeting. You Lannisters may have little regard for the sheep, but one thing about sheep is that they do bleat. Your sister underestimated that, and you, as well. She knew I was nearing the answer, and when she saw that you were not paying her the deference you once did, she grew nervous, panicked even. So, she went to her not-so-trusty accomplice for one more little job.

“Kill Doran Martell, and the will would remain set with Osmund to benefit, and the trail of motive further confused. But I was one step ahead of her, and thanks to you and Brienne standing guard, Osmund Kettleblack was stopped at two murders. If I’m correct, Addam is taking his confession as we speak, and we both know that men like Osmund Kettleblack will not shrink at dragging Cersei down with them. And there you have it. Murder solved. Not bad for an amateur, wouldn’t you say?”

Jaime made a small noise in the back of his throat. “All I can say I got out of that quite lengthy dissertation was that you didn’t know who the murderers were nearly as soon as you pretended to.”

Olenna’s smirk broke into a full-on smile. “Can you fault me for it, Lannister? After all, I have to keep my enemies on their toes.”

“Ah, so we’re enemies again, are we?” Jaime stood up, brushing his golden hair back with one hand. “Excellent. This whole working together thing was beginning to make me rather uncomfortable. The universe has been restored to order. Good day, Mrs. Tyrell.” 

And with that, Jaime Lannister strode out the front door, smiling to himself as he went.

****************

Jaime Lannister was accosted the moment he made it out of the doors of the Caswell Luxury Hotel. Margaery Tyrell was at his elbow. Just when he thought he’d be rid of the roses for a good long while…

“Have you heard? Daenerys and Daario are going to be married!” Margaery was practically vibrating with glee. “I knew it! I rather think it was Renly who convinced Daenerys to say yes. The way Daario kept looking at him, Renly probably thought he’d be the next one murdered at the Caswell.” She laughed delightedly, and Jaime thought that she probably wouldn’t mind another murder investigation to hang around. Jaime, on the other hand, was just about done with them for the time being. 

“Give them my congratulations, then. No better time than a murder investigation to get married, I suppose.” He had hoped that would get Margaery off his back, but she wasn’t so easily deterred. 

“There isn’t though, is there? Death makes us realize who we want to spend our lives with. Makes sense, in a way.”

“Perhaps,” Jaime said noncommittally. He wondered where Brienne had got up to. He hadn’t seen her since the night before. 

“Brienne’s in the garden, by the way. I’m off to tell Grandmother the news. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. Good-bye!” And with a whirl, Margaery dashed past him, into the hotel. Jaime walked towards the garden, annoyed at Margaery for being able to read his mind.

Just as she had said, Brienne was in the garden. She was standing next to a bench, looking out over the roses with a thoughtful expression on her face. Her strong legs reminded Jaime briefly of the murdered girls, the first indication that they might have been switched. The body in the library had the more powerful legs of a stunt woman, whereas Sansa had done the grace routines. Brienne heard his approach and turned around.

“Jaime. Shouldn’t you be back at the station?” 

“Addam has it covered. He’s really not a bad policeman. Not half as good as me, of course, but what can I—”

“Oh, shut up,” Brienne said, but there was little heat in her voice. “I solved as much of this case as you did.”

“Well, then, you must be pretty extraordinary.” It was out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself. Brienne stood stock still.

“Are you all right?” she asked, and it was a mark of how intense the last few days had been that Jaime wasn’t even sure what she was referring to.

“Fine,” he said because it sounded safe. He and Brienne were standing very close to each other. When had that happened?

“You don’t have to be, you know,” Brienne said quietly. her lips really were huge. And they were very close to his face…

“I know,” He said, to distract himself. “It’s true though, I think. Or it’s relative. Or maybe both. I don’t know. There’s just one more thing…”

“What?” Brienne started to say, but then he was kissing her. Her lips were big, but they were also soft and surprisingly warm. He thought that he should probably pull away, that they hardly knew each other, that it was all just adrenaline, but he didn’t. And his teeth found her lower lip and she made this noise in the back of her throat that sounded almost like a purr and he forgot to think at all. 

Someone was whistling as they came down the path. Startled, Brienne broke away. Her face flushed and her blue eyes sparkling more than Jaime had ever seen them. 

It was Petyr Baelish.

“Brienne,” he said in that snide voice that Jaime was seriously considering strangling out of him. “I trust you’ll be ready to perform tonight. Inspector Lannister, I’m ever so grateful that the case has been closed and everything can go back to normal. I suppose I won’t be seeing you around anymore,” he said rather pointedly, and kept walking, a smirk plastered on his face.

The moment he was out of sight, Brienne turned to Jaime. “Please tell me you can find something to charge him with.”

Jaime had to stop envisioning the various ways he could disembowel Baelish to answer her. “Oh, I will. And if you wanted to help, I mean, you might not be too terrible a nuisance.”

Brienne’s horsey teeth poked out when she smiled. “That’s quite a compliment. I do see some gray hairs. Are you certain you can handle another investigation right now?”

“Not quite yet, I’d say.” And he pulled her in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story really was so much fun to write. Fanfiction can provide the most unique challenges, and I loved fusing these two universes. Special thanks to Mikki for the prompt, the inspiration, and the prodding to (metaphorically) get off my ass and post the next chapter. And of course to ash (downlookingup) for her fantastic beta skills and generally being an awesome human being. I'm so proud to be a part of the j/b fandom. I've never been involved with such a great online community before. Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Next time: The body is identified, Baelish creeps and Brienne makes an appearance.


End file.
